Murder by Something Something
by trixietru
Summary: When Lassiter gets invited to a mysterious weekend retreat, Shawn suspects trouble and follows along.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Murder by Something Something

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Shawn/Lassiter

Summary: When Lassiter gets invited to a mysterious weekend retreat, Shawn suspects trouble and follows along.

Author's Note: Starts less than a week after the events of "Earth, Wind, and…Wait for it…". Title inspired by the very silly 1976 movie _Murder by Death_. On a different topic, let me add that since this site doesn't provide a very good format for replying to reviews, particularly Guest reviews, I would just like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has commented on my previous fics. You guys are seriously the best.

The invitation came at an auspicious time, just as Lassiter was considering that he might need an actual vacation. He had thought after the situation with Drimmer that he was fine to go back to work immediately, particularly since there was nothing more pleasurable to him than arresting scumbags, but in the few weeks since then he had been forced to admit that he was off his game. That had become particularly apparent after the murder/arson case (he swiftly dismissed the word "furder" from his brain, no matter how concise it was). It wasn't just that Spencer had beaten him to the punch in figuring out the case – that had become increasingly, depressingly normal over the past few years – it was his own reactions to certain event.

He thought he had hidden it well at the scene; truthfully, everything had happened so fast that he barely had time to react at all, but seeing Guster's little blue car outside of that building, and then watching the explosion come from inside, knowing that Spencer and Guster were in there, had shaken him much more than he had let on at the time. It really wasn't until he was at home later that night, pouring himself a drink and loosening his tie, that his knees had felt suddenly wobbly and he had dropped into a chair thinking, oh god, he – they – could have died.

And that just wasn't right.

He wasn't supposed to worry over those two half-wits. They got themselves into danger on a nearly weekly basis, and if he started to lose it every time one of them ended up in a life or death situation, then he was going to be in real trouble. He didn't even LIKE them, so why seeing them emerge unscathed from a burning building should have sent such relief through him, he didn't know. Maybe it was just that he had gotten used to them. Yes, it was simply that he was accustomed to their presence, that they were, on occasion, even useful. Helpful.

Whatever the reason, he needed to squash it, because spending even a minute of concern over those two nincompoops was a waste of his valuable time. Even if Spencer had shown complete faith in him during the Drimmer incident and gotten kidnapped and pistol-whipped for his trouble. Lassiter had rescued him in the end, after all, so they were square.

The invitation had arrived via the mail at the police station, in an elegant, cream-colored envelope that stood out in the stack of paperwork on his desk. When he opened it, he found a note typed out on heavy cardstock, inviting him to a prestigious meeting of the finest minds in California law enforcement being held that weekend at a hotel a few hours up the coast.

It was a perfect opportunity to get away for a couple of days and clear his mind, and it wouldn't be a waste of time because he would be mingling with other investigators. Chief Vick granted him the time off without hesitation; she had wanted him to take more time after Drimmer anyway, so she was pleased to hear that he was going out of town for the weekend.

When he came out of the Chief's office, he was instantly irritated to see Spencer leaning against his desk, reading the invitation that he had stupidly left out in the open, where any nosy fake psychic might see it.

"This is a classy looking invite, Lassie!" Spencer said by way of greeting. "Are you going?"

Lassiter snatched the card out of his hand. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes."

"It's kind of weird, isn't it, that you only received it a few days before the event is scheduled? A lot of people might need more notice than that to schedule the time off."

Privately, Lassiter had thought that was a bit odd himself, but coming from Spencer, he ignored the question. "I have plenty of vacation days, and O'Hara and I don't have any outstanding cases, so it's not a problem. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some paperwork to finish."

There. That was, if not friendly, at least a polite and professional dismissal. Most people would have taken the hint and left, but as he liked to prove over and over again, Spencer was not most people. Instead of leaving, he leaned into Lassiter's personal space to pick the envelope the invitation had come in up off of his desk and examine it.

He smelled good, like a combination of expensive hair care products and baked goods. Lassiter had noticed this a while ago, and now he couldn't seem to stop noticing it. As usual, he was dressed in a rumpled button down shirt and faded jeans, and he looked, Lassiter thought unkindly, like an unmade bed. Yes, a traitorous part of his brain chimed in, a warm, inviting, unmade bed, the kind you might get up to all sorts of things in.

He shut that thought down immediately. He really, really needed a vacation.

"Lassie," Spencer proclaimed, holding his fingers to his head in that obnoxious way that had Lassiter longing to shake him, "I'm sensing that going on this trip would be a mistake. I'm getting bad vibes from this invitation."

"Fortunately," Lassiter said snidely, "I don't give a crap about your phony predictions. Now, go away Spencer. The grown-ups have to work." So much for the polite and professional dismissal. He had tried, after all.

"Mark my words," Spencer said dramatically, pointing a finger at him, "you'll regret not listening to me. Huh, what does that even mean, mark my words? Are you supposed to like, write them down? That would be good Lassie. Write this down: You, Carlton 'Lassie' Lassitarous will regret not listening to me, Shawn 'The Psychic Phenomenon' Spencer. Be sure to date and sign it. Maybe get it notarized."

"Get. Out."

"Mark 'em!" Shawn said again, wagging his finger at Lassiter before turning and leaving.

An hour later Shawn was in the Psych office bent over his laptop, researching the name of the organization that had sent Lassiter the invitation when Gus came in.

"Did you have fun at your boring job for boring people today?" Shawn asked, as Gus sat down at his desk.

"Yes Shawn, I did. I picked up a new doctor on my route and got the number of the pretty physical therapist who works in Dr. Grossman's office."

Shawn looked at him in disbelief. "Seriously? A doctor named Dr. Grossman? That can't be real."

Gus nodded towards Shawn's computer. "What are you doing? Working on your _A-Team_ fanfiction?"

"You wish. You know you're dying to find out what happens next. No, I'm trying to save Lassiter from himself again."

"What's going on with Lassiter?"

"He got an invitation from an organization that doesn't appear to exist to some sort of elite cop getaway. Of course, he wouldn't listen to me when I told him that he shouldn't go, so we're going to follow him this weekend and keep him out of trouble."

Gus sat down at his desk before speaking, opening up his laptop and making a show of not looking at Shawn. "Um, I'm not spending my weekend following Lassiter, Shawn. I'm going to San Francisco."

"What?" Shawn looked up at him, startled. "When did this happen?"

"Joy called me a few weeks ago and asked if I wanted to meet her there for a weekend."

Shawn spun around in his desk chair, gathering his thoughts. "So many things to unpack here, buddy. First of all, you're spending a weekend in one of the most romantic cities in the world with your _sister_? Weird."

"It's not weird, Shawn! I never get to see Joy without our parents around, and she's going to be there on business. We're going to visit Fisherman's Wharf and ride the streetcars."

"Second point," Shawn continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Why didn't you invite me to come along? I love San Francisco! The seafood and the hills and the atmospheric fog and the seafood."

"Gee Shawn, I don't know. Why didn't I invite you to spend the weekend in a romantic location with my sister, whom you SLEPT with? Good question."

"I thought you were over that! You're still so mad that you just ended a sentence with a preposition."

"Most modern day grammarians agree that it's not improper to end a sentence with a preposition. And I'll never be over it, Shawn! You defiled my sister!"

"I didn't defile her," Shawn said, aghast. "It was very respectful boot-knocking."

Gus put his hands over his ears. "I don't want to hear anymore! The point, Shawn, is that you are not invited to go to San Francisco with me and Joy, because I don't want to have to watch the two of you make googly eyes at each other all weekend."

"I've never made googly eyes at anyone in my life! I play it cool, man. You know that."

Gus looked back down at his laptop with studied concentration. "Sometimes I think you're making googly eyes at Lassiter," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Shawn to hear him.

Shawn stared at him in disbelief. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Didn't we just help Lassiter a few weeks ago? And in return all we got was a coupon?"

"It was TWO coupons, and the Chief paid us for our work on that case!"

"Yeah, I know she did, but Lassiter could barely bring himself to thank us."

"Lassie just has a hard time showing affection. He doesn't like anyone to see behind that gruff exterior, but deep down he's got a gooey marshmallow center."

Gus looked at him doubtfully. "He keeps it well-hidden. What I'm trying to say is that Lassiter doesn't want your help, and he probably doesn't need it either. He's a grown man. A very well-armed grown man, at that. If this invitation does turn out to be something weird or dangerous, he can take care of himself."

"Can he? If it weren't for us, Gus, he might be in prison right now thanks to Drimmer. He needs someone to watch out for him."

"Yeah, I'm still only 85% certain he didn't kill that guy, but either way, I don't think he needs your help."

"He didn't kill that guy. I solved that case, remember? I'm the one who got a concussion, if anyone should be forgetting things, it should be me! Come on Gus, what's your problem with Lassie?"

"He's mean, Shawn! No matter how many cases you solve or how many times you help him, he's still always an asshole to you. I don't understand why you like him."

"I don't _like_ him," Shawn scoffed, "but I _get_ him. He's got his macho loner Clint Eastwood thing going on, and he doesn't want to let anyone see past that. I'm wearing him down though Gus, I can tell."

"The question is, why do you want to wear him down?"

Shawn shrugged. "You know how I like a challenge."

"No you don't. Just yesterday I watched you throw away a new jar of pickles because you couldn't get the lid off."

"That jar was clearly defective, Gus. And anyway, I didn't mean a physical challenge, I meant an intellectual one, which is what breaking down the walls of the mighty detective is."

Gus shook his head. "I don't get it. This is what comes of having too much time on your hands, Shawn. You need a girlfriend."

"Oh, is that a debate you really want to get into with me, Burton Guster? When was the last time a girl lasted past one date with you?"

Gus thumbed his nose in that way that made him look adorably dorky, not cool, in Shawn's opinion, and grinned. "I'm a player, Shawn. You can't tie a player down."

"Whatever, dude. I'm hungry, let's go get some tacos."


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, when Shawn was driving up the coast on his bike to the location specified on Lassiter's invitation, the conversation with Gus was still nagging at him.

The accusation that he liked Lassiter…it hit closer to home than wanted to admit. There weren't many secrets that he kept from Gus, but the one big one was that when he had been on the road, he hadn't kept his interest in sexual partners confined to women. He had realized in junior high, when he developed equally intense crushes on both Gus and Amy Rohmer that he was attracted to both sexes, but in Santa Barbara it seemed a lot easier to stick to women. Gus would freak if he found out that Shawn had been hiding a secret that big for all these years, and he didn't even want to think about how his dad might react. And it was fine; he loved women. He loved talking to them and flirting with them and sleeping with them. He might sometimes miss sleeping with other guys, but overall it seemed like a small price to pay in order to keep the peace in all the other relationships in his life.

His relationship with Lassiter, though, had never been peaceful. The first time he met Lassiter, it was like looking into some sort of crazy funhouse mirror: this was what Henry Spencer had tried to mold Shawn into becoming. Youngest Head Detective in Santa Barbara history. Ambitious, commanding, respected, even feared. Shawn had never feared him, though. He looked at Lassiter and saw everything that he had rebelled against, and it gave him a perverse thrill to try and crawl under Lassiter's skin. It had been heartening, in an unkind way, to see how unhappy Lassiter was compared to his own carefree, ambitionless lifestyle.

At first.

He hadn't worked with the SBPD for very long before he started getting glimpses beneath Lassiter's cranky, off-putting demeanor to the dedicated, decent person underneath. Sure, Shawn was a better detective – between the training his dad had put him through and his photographic memory, he had advantages that no one else could compete with – but Lassiter was a great cop, brave and honest and hardworking, and Shawn admired that. So yeah, he liked Lassiter. He had for years.

But he had recently begun to realize that there was more to it than that. Like when he had told Lassie "You are so sexy right now!" and meant it. Or the way his heart had skipped a beat when he had seen Lassie wearing his blue shirt. So, maybe he had a little crush. It was no big deal. As long as he was living in Santa Barbara, Shawn was straight. Perhaps more importantly, so was Lassiter, of this Shawn was nearly certain.

He arrived at the address on the invitation and parked his bike behind the hotel, so that Lassiter wouldn't see it right away when he drove up. He was guessing that Lassie would arrive within the next half hour, so to kill time he walked around the perimeter, checking out his surroundings. The hotel appeared to be a renovated mansion, sitting on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Shawn had to admit that it was a beautiful location for a conference, but he still had his doubts that anything about this was legitimate. The hotel was unusually isolated, for one thing, with no other businesses or even homes nearby that he could see. The last gas station he had passed had been about ten miles previous.

Hearing a car door slam shut, he went back around to the front of the building to see Lassiter striding towards the front door, suitcase in hand. Shawn followed at a more leisurely pace, keeping far enough behind Lassie that he went unnoticed.

At the check-in desk, Lassiter was greeted by a dark-haired woman wearing a crisply pressed suit who smiled up at him.

"Hello! Are you here for the law enforcement conference?"

"Yes. Detective Carlton Lassiter."

She checked a list of names in front of her and nodded. "You've been assigned one of our ocean side rooms. The room is spacious and the view is beautiful. If you'll follow me, I'll show you the way."

Lassiter hesitated. "I don't really need a view. A smaller room would do," he said, thinking of the cost.

"Don't worry sir, the gentleman hosting the conference rented out the entire hotel for the weekend, so there's no expense to you."

"Really?" Lassiter asked, surprised. "I tried to do some research on the organization that sent the invitation, but had difficulty finding any information. Can you tell me the benefactor's name?"

"I'm sorry sir, I'm not at liberty to disclose anything at this time. I believe it will all be made clear to you and your fellow conference attendees before the end of the evening."

Lassiter found the vagueness in that statement to be somewhat ominous, but the clerk kept her polite, professional smile in place the entire time and he tried to convince himself that everything was fine.

"Wow," came a familiar but unwelcome voice from behind Lassiter, "this place is pretty swanky."

"Spencer! What the hell are you doing here?"

Shawn spread his arms out dramatically. "I was drawn to this place, Lassie! I told you from the beginning that I had bad vibes about this, and today I awoke with the clear knowledge that I needed to be here to help you fight back the dark forces aligned against you!"

"Oh, for god's sake," Lassiter muttered, rolling his eyes in disgust. "Go away, Spencer. Can't I have a vacation away from you?"

Shawn put a hand to his chest, looking affronted. "Why would you want a vacation away from me, Lassie? I have it on good authority that I'm delightful."

"Guster is not a good authority."

"Excuse me," the desk clerk said, looking thin-lipped and disapproving. "Did you receive an invitation to the conference, sir?"

"My invitation arrived from a higher plane," Shawn said, giving her his most winning smile. "My name is Shawn Spencer, and I am the chief psychic investigator for the Santa Barbara Police Department."

"You're the only psychic investigator for the Santa Barbara Police Department," Lassiter corrected, "and you're not really psychic."

"Don't mind my skeptical friend here," Shawn said, giving Lassiter's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "As I was saying, I was led here by a dream involving the cast of _Gimme a Break_ and a talking goat named Felix, who told me that Detective Lassiter would be requiring my services this weekend."

"I'm afraid the hotel is only open to invited guests this weekend," the clerk said coldly.

"Oh, what a shame," Lassiter said. "Have a nice trip back to Santa Barbara, Spencer."

"Could I speak to you for a minute?" Shawn asked, grabbing Lassiter's arm and dragging him away from the check-in desk.

Once they were out of earshot of the clerk, he said "Come on Lassie, you know there's something weird about this. An all expenses paid weekend provided by an unknown benefactor? Tell me that paranoid little brain of yours isn't working overtime to figure out what the catch is."

Lassiter sighed, because he did know that there was something strange going on here, but he didn't want to admit it to Spencer. Seeing his hesitation, Shawn pressed on. "Look, just let me check out your room with you. I'll be your second set of eyes. If everything's cool, I'll head home." He glanced outside and added, "even though it's about to start raining and it would be cruel and unusual punishment to send me out on my bike."

"You should have thought about that before you came here," Lassiter snapped, "and I have perfectly good eyes. I certainly don't need yours." As infuriating as he was though, Lassiter had to admit that Spencer had good instincts. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have him come up to the room for a few minutes.

"You can come up to the room, but after that, you're leaving."

"Whatever you say, Lassie," Shawn agreed cheerfully, as Lassiter turned back to the desk clerk.

"I apologize for the delay," he said, "but I'm ready to see my room now. My…colleague will be leaving shortly, but we need to discuss some business before he goes."

The clerk frowned but nodded. "Fine. If you gentlemen will follow me, please?"

She led them upstairs, opening the door to a room with a balcony overlooking the ocean. "Dinner is at 8:00 in the dining room, which you'll find down the hall to the left of the front entrance. I believe all of your questions about this weekend will be answered at that time. My name is Sloane. Please feel free to call down to the desk and ask for me if you need anything, Detective Lassiter." Giving Shawn one last haughty look, she departed.

"I don't think she likes me," Shawn said, "which is hard to believe, because as I said before, I am delightful."

"Help me look around the room," Lassiter said, setting his suitcase down. "See if there's any kind of cameras or listening devices."

"I was thinking more along the lines of booby traps, like a bomb strapped to the toilet," Shawn mused, looking around at the king-sized bed and the French doors leading to the balcony. "This is a very romantic setting. We should get some champagne and go out on the balcony."

Lassiter just scowled at him. "There's nothing romantic about a professional law enforcement conference, Spencer, and even if there were, you would be the last person I would want to spend it with."

"That hurts, Lassie," Shawn said, moving towards the center of the room as Lassiter opened the closet. "Hey, you know what's strange? That a place this nice would have such crappy maid service."

"What?" Lassiter asked, turning to look at him. Shawn pointed to the bed, which was indeed somewhat lumpy looking. "The first thing you learn when you go to work in hotel maintenance is how to make a bed," Shawn said, reaching for the comforter and yanking it off the bed, then leaping back with an unmanly shriek.

Lassiter had his gun in his hand before he even registered the rattlesnake in the center of the bed, uncoiling to strike at Spencer. He shot at it three times in quick succession, and watched as it fell back onto the bed in bloody pieces, then dropped to his knees beside Shawn, who had stumbled to the floor when he jumped back and was sitting there now, staring wide-eyed at the remains of the snake on the bed.

"Spencer!" Lassiter yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders, forcing Shawn to refocus his attention. "Did it bite you?"

"What?" Shawn asked, sounding dazed, as Lassiter ran his hands down Shawn's arms, looking for any sign of a bite. "No. No, I'm fine. It didn't get me."

"Are you sure?" Lassiter asked. Shawn looked up into his worried blue eyes and felt an odd little flutter in the region of his heart.

"Yeah, it just scared the hell out of me. Good reflexes, by the way, Lassie."

Before Lassiter could respond, the door burst open and he looked up to see Sloane and another woman come into the room.

"We heard gunshots! What hap—oh my god!"

Lassiter stood up and reached a hand down to help Spencer to his feet. For a moment, Shawn's hand was in his, warm and solid, and Lassiter felt an irrational need to check him again for snakebites. Spencer got himself into the worst situations.

"Are either one of you hurt?" Sloane demanded urgently, disgust plain on her face as she took in the remains of the snake on the bed.

"No," Lassiter said, "but I'd like to know how the hell this could have happened."

"So would I," she said grimly. "We'll of course move you into another room immediately. I can't apologize enough. We've had snakes come into the basement before, but never anything on the second floor."

Spencer was being unusually quiet, and Lassiter glanced over at him with some concern, only to see him studying the balcony doors with narrowed eyes, before his gaze seemed to flit around the room busily.

"Spencer? What do you see?" Lassiter asked, then winced because Shawn was sure to jump on that phrasing as evidence that he believed in Spencer's psychic nonsense, which he most certainly did not.

Strangely though, Shawn didn't seem to notice what he'd said. "Nothing yet," he replied absently.

"Carlton?" came a vaguely familiar female voice from the doorway, "what's going on?"

Lassiter turned back to the doorway to see Claire Collins, a district attorney he occasionally worked with, standing there. She grimaced as she caught sight of the bed.

"Good god Carlton, are you all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine. I didn't realize you were here, Claire."

"I arrived just in time to hear the shots," she said, coming closer and putting her hand on his arm. "You're lucky you weren't bitten."

"Spencer's the one who actually found it," Lassiter said, nodding towards Shawn. "Have you two met?"

Claire's well-groomed eyebrows shot up. "The psychic, right? I've seen your picture in the paper, Mr. Spencer. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Shawn said, shaking her hand. "I mean, it's nice to meet you, but likewise to seeing your picture in the paper. You just wrapped that big DeBarge case, right?"

"DeClements," she corrected with a little smile. "That's right. So, you also got invited to this thing, huh?"

"Actually," Sloane interrupted, in a voice like ice, "Mr. Spencer was not invited, and was just about to leave."

"ACTUALLY," Shawn mimicked loudly, putting his fingers to the side of his head, "I'm stuck here due to the weather. Wait for iiiiiitttt."

"What are you talking about?" Sloane snapped, but she hadn't even finished speaking when there was an enormous clap of thunder and a torrential rain began to fall.

"It's cool," Shawn said, smirking a little. "I'll just bunk with Lassie."

"Wait a second," Lassiter said, not at all interested in spending a weekend living out of the same room as Spencer, but no one was paying attention to him in light of Shawn's little psychic display.

"How did you do that?" Claire asked, astonished.

"Don't get him started," Lassiter advised.

Shawn shrugged. "My powers are beyond the understanding of most people. Even I don't fully understand how it is that I do the things I do."

In truth, he had seen a bolt of lightning unnoticed by anyone else in the room flash across the sky while Sloane had been talking, so he had known the thunder was coming, but the rain starting at that particular moment had just been a stroke of luck.

"Detective Lassiter," Sloane said, "if you'll come with me, I'll show you to a different room." She picked up his suitcase and walked past the other gawkers who had gathered in the doorway, leaving Lassiter to follow in her wake. Naturally, Spencer trailed along behind him.

The new room was virtually identical to the first one, with the only significant difference being that the bedding was tight and smooth. Sloane dropped his suitcase on the floor and handed him the key then left, walking past Shawn without saying a word.

"I think I'm starting to win her over," Shawn mused after she was gone.

"Great. You need to talk her into giving you another room. You can't stay with me."

"Why not? It'll be awesome, Lassie! We can stay up all night and watch movie! Maybe we can have a pillow fight."

Lassiter glared at him.

"Is that a no on the movies or the pillow fight? Because I'm flexible on one, but not so much on the other."

Lassiter just continued to glare, and Shawn sighed. "I'm not leaving you, Lassie. That snake didn't find its way into your bed accidentally. The room had been cleaned very recently, the balcony doors were tightly shut, as were the windows, and I didn't see another point of entry, unless of course the snake came through the front door and up the stairs, which seems a wee bit unlikely. I think someone's trying to kill you."

"It could have been an accident. Maybe there was a way into the room that neither of us saw. Snakes do sometimes wander into homes."

Shawn gave him a disbelieving look. "Please, Lassie. I know you don't believe that for a minute. You're the most suspicious person I know. Plus, the whole isolated mansion and mysterious invitation thing is obviously setting up muuuuurder," he said, drawing the final word out dramatically.

"Even if I agree with you, why would that mean you should stay here? You're not my bodyguard, Spencer."

Shawn shrugged casually. "Gus is out of town this weekend, so it's not like I have anything better to do. Besides, there are worse bodies to guard," he said, giving Lassiter an over-the-top lascivious look, "just don't expect me to carry you out of danger like Kevin Costner did for Whitney Houston."

"Yeah, I see how you completely avoided my question, Spencer. There's no reason for you to be here. After the rain lets up, you should go."

"I told you, I'm not leaving you, Lassie," Shawn said again, sounding as serious as Lassiter had ever heard him sound. "If you're going to stay, then you need someone here to watch your back. Or, we could both get in your car and leave right now. That would probably be the most sensible thing to do. Of course, doing the sensible thing would ruin my reputation."

"I can't leave. I have to find out what's going on here."

"I know," Shawn said with a grin, "I'm dying to find out too."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "That's not what I mean, you idiot. If there's some sort of criminal activity taking place here, it's my job to find out what it is."

Shawn gave him a skeptical look and after a moment he relented with an exasperated sigh. "Okay, yes, I'm dying to know what's going on too. Besides that, there are other people involved. If Claire Collins got the same invitation that I did, then she might be in danger as well."

"Oh," Shawn said "I see how it is. You do wanna play bodyguard, but only if you can be the Costner to her Houston."

"Spencer, I know this concept might be difficult for you to comprehend, but I have a responsibility to keep people safe."

"Ah, but it doesn't hurt when the person to be kept safe is a leggy redhead with a crush on you, does it?"

"She does not-"

"Oh, Carlton!" Shawn said in his high-pitched girl voice, "are you hurt? Here, let me touch you to see if I can find any wounds!" He stroked a hand down Lassiter's arm, stopping where Claire's hand had been earlier. Lassiter jerked away, thinking uncomfortably of how he had touched Shawn when he was checking to see if the snake had bitten him.

"She's a colleague," he said, annoyed. "We've worked together on probably a dozen cases over the years. Anything you think beyond that is just a product of your overactive imagination."

"Whatever you say, Lass. Since the room appears to be free of snakes, bombs, and poisoned darts, I think I'm going to take a shower before dinner, if you don't mind. I got all sweaty on the drive up here."

"I do mind! This is my room! I don't want you showering here, or sleeping here, or doing anything else here for that matter."

"Don't be the cold French fry at the bottom of the sack, Lassie! How can I make sure that no one gets the chance to murder you if I'm in a different room?"

"For the last time, I don't need your protection, Spencer."

"A crusty old man once told me that it's always smart to use protection. That man was my father, and he was talking about condoms, and the entire conversation was very embarrassing for both of us, but for once, he was right. Let me be your condom, Lassie…actually," he said, taking in the slightly horrified expression on Lassiter's face, "let's pretend I never said that. The point is, I'm not leaving."

"Yes you are! You can't stay for the weekend, Spencer. Did you even bring a change of clothes?"

"Do you really think an all-knowing psychic like me would neglect an important detail like that? Shawn asked. He reached for Lassiter's suitcase and pulled it onto the bed.

"That's MY suitcase! Are you going to steal my clothes along with my shower and my room?"

Shawn unzipped the suitcase, but before opening it, he hesitated. "Keep in mind that you've already discharged your weapon once today, so anything else would be overkill unless your life is on the line."

He flipped open the lid and pulled out a backpack. Lassiter stared in confusion. "How did that get into my suitcase? Spencer, did you break into my house?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lassie, I would never do that! Except for in case of emergency, or if I was really bored or hungry. No, I just took the opportunity to pack this away while you were at work earlier today."

Lassiter pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remind himself that if he murdered Spencer, he would end up in prison with all the scum he had locked away in the past.

"So, you broke into my car."

"I didn't break into anything! I used my key."

"Since when do you have a key to my car?"

"Ummm, what's the answer to that question that's least likely to make you angry? Er. Angrier?

"Just…get out of my sight, Spencer, so that I don't do anything I'll regret later."

"Awesome! I'm going to go take that shower, then!" He picked up his backpack and sauntered into the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

After Spencer disappeared into the bathroom, Lassiter looked into his suitcase and sighed. Everything he had packed was still there, just slightly squished. Fucking Spencer, who did he think he was? Insufferable, infuriating, irritating, irksome…and naked, he realized, as he heard the shower turn on.

This weekend was supposed to have been a respite away from those kinds of thoughts, and instead he found himself sharing close quarters with Spencer. Who, if he was being honest with himself, was actually trying to do something nice. The idea of Spencer somehow protecting him was laughable, but it was kind of sweet of him to want to try, weird condom metaphors aside.

He didn't know where these confusing feelings towards Spencer came from; he found the other man exasperating to say the least, but at the same time, it was impossible to deny that he also found him attractive. It was true too that despite all his mockery and snark, Spencer could at times be incredibly supportive, as he had been throughout the recent Drimmer situation. Maybe, Lassiter thought to himself, this weird attraction was just a response to someone actually trusting in him, which seemed to be a rare occurrence in the years since Victoria had left him.

There was also the fact that whether he realized it or not, Shawn had been showing Lassiter some different facets of himself recently. Seeing him lose his cool over Gus being held hostage in that bank had been a reminder that underneath the smartass comments and perfectly styled hair was a devoted friend. And it had actually been somewhat educational, spending time with Spencer and Guster in their office during the Drimmer investigation, because Spencer hadn't bothered trying to snow Lassiter with any of his "psychic" crap. Instead, he had drawn out Lassiter's memory of the night of the shooting and used deductive reasoning to come to his conclusions. Lassiter had found it far more impressive than the fake visions.

If the memory of Shawn casually reaching over and taking Lassiter's tie off of him, then blindfolding him with it, all with that stupid popsicle hanging out of his mouth made his stomach flip over and his heart pound faster, well, he was prepared to ignore it.

To keep himself from thinking about things he shouldn't while Spencer was in the shower, he started checking the light fixtures for any kind of recording devices. It was the kind of paranoia that usually had everyone rolling their eyes in his direction, so he was honestly a little surprised when he unscrewed the light bulb from the lamp on the nightstand and found something.

He was so engrossed in trying to carefully remove what appeared to be a tiny listening device from the lamp that he didn't notice the bathroom door opening or hear Spencer come up behind him.

"Whatcha doing, Lassie?"

He swung around, putting a finger to his lips to shush Spencer, and blinked in shock as he found himself standing right next to a damp, half-naked Shawn, who was wearing only a pair of jeans with a towel draped around his neck, and who peered with interest at the bits of wire and metal Lassiter was now holding in his hand. Reaching forward, Shawn plucked it out of his palm and dropped it onto the nightstand, then grabbed Lassiter by the wrist and dragged him out to the balcony. It was still raining, though not as hard as before, and Lassiter found himself sputtering indignantly as rain soaked through his shirt.

"What the hell, Spencer?"

"If we destroy it, whoever put it there will know that we're on to them. Maybe we should just leave it."

"We'll have to be careful about what we say in the room. You won't be able to just blab everything that comes into your head."

Shawn just smirked at him. "Don't you know by now Lassie that I can keep a secret when I want to? Damn," he added, folding his arms across his bare chest, "it's cold out here. Look, let's keep it around for now. It gives us the upper hand to know it's there."

Lassiter nodded in reluctant agreement and went back into the room, mostly because Spencer was starting to turn blue. Shawn went back into the bathroom and came out a moment later with a dry towel and his backpack. He turned his back to Lassiter as he pulled a shirt from the backpack, and despite the fact that he had at least a dozen more important things to think about, Lassiter found that he couldn't tear his eyes away from the bare expanse of smooth skin and the play of muscle in Shawn's shoulders and arms as he dug around looking for the shirt he wanted. He felt a fierce pang of disappointment stab through him when Shawn pulled on one of his ever-present plaid shirts.

Aware that they had been quiet for too long, Lassiter said as snidely as he could muster, "Is that what you consider dressing for dinner? Do you even own an iron, Spencer?"

Shawn turned around, still buttoning up his shirt. "Of course I do. It's awesome for making grilled cheese sandwiches."

"My turn for a shower," Lassiter said, pulling a clean set of clothes out of his suitcase and heading for the bathroom.

"If I had known you were going to shower too, we could have gone together and conserved water."

Lassiter found that he had no response to that due to the surprisingly explicit image that appeared in his mind's eye, but he made sure to slam the door to the bathroom extra loud when he went in.

Shawn sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the listening device to get a better look at it, while at the same time the more distractible part of his brain started busily obsessing over the fact that he was pretty sure Lassiter had been checking him out.

That wasn't possible, was it? Despite the years of manhandling and the occasional mixed signal Lassiter sent him, he was straight, right? Adorably clueless maybe, but straight as an arrow. Straight-edged. Straight-laced. As straight as Jennifer Aniston's hair. He couldn't possibly be wrong about that, could he? Sure, Lassiter's marriage had failed, but that was hardly unusual, and even less unusual among cops. He dated sometimes, but he never seemed to go out with the same woman more than once or twice; but then, Lassie could be a strange and off-putting person, and that in addition to a job that made a lot of demands on his personal time was probably enough to put a kibosh on most of his attempts at a relationship before he even got started.

So Shawn couldn't really draw any conclusions based on Lassiter's personal life. All he had to go on was a history littered with unnecessary touching and the conviction that Lassie had been practically eating him with his eyes a few minutes before.

He carefully set the bug back down on the table and looked around the room. After Lassiter was done with his shower, they should check the bathroom to see if it was also wired for sound. Whoever had set this thing up clearly didn't lack for resources – the hotel rented out for the weekend, the technology indicated by the bug, even the snake, which was probably not inexpensive if it was purchased. He needed to find out who the other guests were and who with money had a grudge against them. Since he hadn't heard any sounds of distress since the incident with the snake, he hoped that for the time being at least, whatever other guests were at the hotel were safe.

If he was right about Lassiter being attracted to him, what was he prepared to do about it? His libido had some definite ideas about the situation, but he needed to exhibit some…what was that phrase Gus used sometimes? Oh, right. Impulse control. He couldn't start something with Lassie, no matter how tempting, because after this weekend was over, they would both be going back to Santa Barbara, where they were both totally and completely heterosexual.

After Lassiter was done with his shower – and Shawn tried to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed that Lassie had gotten dressed in the bathroom – the two of them searched the bathroom as thoroughly as possible, but found no sign of anything suspicious.

Checking his watch, Lassiter said "We should probably go down for dinner. Maybe we'll have a better idea about what's going on after we see who our fellow guests are."

Only when they arrived in the dining room, they found there weren't really many fellow guests to speak of. There was one table in the center of the room, with six places set. Claire was already at the table, and sitting across from her was a man in his fifties who looked up at Lassiter and Shawn with a flinty, hardened gaze that was probably supposed to be intimidating. Fortunately, Shawn had grown up with Henry Spencer and was therefore not easy to intimidate.

"Claire, is this seat taken?" he asked, sitting next to her, while at the same time extending his hand to the man across the table. "Hello, I'm Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department, and this lanky fellow with the regal ears is Head Detective Carlton Lassiter."

"Frank Slaughter. Psychic? What the hell kind of bullshit is that?"

Shawn quickly assessed the details he had already noticed about Frank: desk jockey, but not well-educated enough to be a lawyer. Divorced, drinking problem, and most tellingly, a badge on the sleeve of the jacket draped over the back of his chair that he recognized after a few seconds.

"Tell me Frank, what's it like working for the prison system? Or…wait…" he puts his fingers to his temple dramatically, "you're the big guy in charge, aren't you? Prison warden." That last bit was a gamble, but even if he was wrong, he could bluff that he's seeing the future.

Frank squinted at him. "Do I know you? Were you a convict in my prison?"

From the other side of Claire, Shawn heard a snort of laughter from Lassiter, which he ignored. "No Frank, I'm an honest citizen," with a sidelong look at Claire, he added, "just an incredibly gifted one."

She smiled at him warmly. "I have to admit, I've always been a skeptic, but I find this whole psychic thing fascinating. Do the two of you work a lot of cases together?" she asked, turning to include Lassiter in the conversation.

"It feels like about one a week, sometimes," Shawn said, which made Lassiter scowl at him.

"Don't exaggerate. It's not anywhere close to once a week, Spencer."

"Oh!" Claire interrupted, "I just realized…you were involved with that Drimmer case, weren't you Mr. Spencer?"

Shawn nodded as Lassiter asked "Are you going to be handling the prosecution of that case, Claire?"

"No, someone else from the office will be taking care of it. Is it true that you shot him, Carlton?"

"It was amazing!" Shawn interjected. "Lassie was like Bruce Willis or something, minus the hairplugs."

"You were there when it happened?"

"I had a vision that led me to realize that Drimmer had been the villain all along. He was going to kill me and frame Lassie for my murder, but then Lassie went all 'go ahead, make my day' on his ass."

"There's nothing worse than a dirty cop," Lassiter said, still disgusted with the resolution to that case.

"You shot him?" Frank asked, his eyes bright with interest. "What kind of gun do you use?"

Always happy to talk about his guns, Lassiter leaned forward to describe his collection to Frank. Claire moved a little closer to Shawn.

"I was glad you and Carlton showed up when you did," she said quietly. "That guy was giving me the creeps."

"He seems a little intense," Shawn agreed.

"He was coming on to me. He told me which room he was in, in case I got lonely tonight."

"Ewww."

"Exactly."

"Good evening, everyone," Sloane came in and sat down heavily in one of the empty chairs at the table. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Wait!" Shawn said loudly, because this was almost too easy to guess. "I'm sensing that our host will not be joining us tonight after all."

Sloane shot him a murderous glare. "Yes, Mr. Spencer, that's right. The weather has caused some road closures and he's not able to come this evening as he had hoped. He'll be here tomorrow."

"What kind of law enforcement conference is this anyway?" Lassiter asked. "There are only three of us here who were invited."

"There are more guests arriving tomorrow, Detective Lassiter. Your host particularly wanted to meet with the three of you tonight because he thinks so highly of the work each of you do in your separate fields."

"Four," Shawn said, looking around the table. "There were supposed to be four guests here tonight, right? Unless you were planning on taking one of these seats, Sloane?"

"That brings me to the other piece of bad news that I have, and I'm afraid it's much worse. Ms. Collins, I believe you know Robert Daly?"

"Yes, of course. He's the most well-known defense attorney in Santa Barbara."

Sloane nodded. "Yes. He was supposed to be here tonight as well, but unfortunately, it appears that he was murdered this afternoon. Shot to death in his home."

Claire gasped, putting a hand to her mouth, and Lassiter stood up abruptly.

"I have to get back to Santa Barbara. I should be working on that case."

"Detective, I understand how you feel, but you can't leave tonight. Like I said before, a number of the roads are closed. You're going to have to wait until morning."

Frustrated, Lassiter sat back down, pulling out his phone as he did. "I can at least call O'Hara and find out what's going on."

Only he found that he couldn't. "No signal," he said, annoyed. "Does anyone's phone work?"

"When the weather is like this, we often can't get any reception here," Sloane said. "The landline is down as well."

"So," Shawn said, barely able to contain his glee, "you're saying that we're trapped in a mansion on a stormy night in an isolated location with no way to contact the outside world? Please tell me that this house is haunted, because that would make this officially the best night ever."

Sloane gave him a withering look, but he was distracted from her contempt by the sight of a young man in his early twenties coming through the door carrying a tray of food.

Shawn looked mournfully at the food being set in front of him. Everything looked delicious, but given the events of the past few hours, he was afraid it might be poisoned. He glanced over to see if he needed to stop Lassiter from eating (he was thinking a vision from Lucretia Borgia warning the diners that danger awaited anyone who sampled the roasted potatoes), but found that Lassiter wasn't even looking at his food, was instead still glaring at his phone like he could force it to work merely by strength of will.

Claire picked up her fork, and in desperation Shawn "accidentally" knocked his water glass over into her lap. She jumped to her feet in shock, and Shawn stood up with her, apologizing profusely and handing her his napkin. Lassiter was giving him a look of confused annoyance, and Shawn looked at his food and then back at Lassie suggestively, who pushed his plate away in realization. It was nice, Shawn reflected, to have Lassie's paranoia working in his favor for once.

What he had failed to notice though, was that while he was fussing over Claire and making eyes at Lassie, Frank had dug into his food with gusto, a fact that Shawn and Lassiter realized at the same time.

"What?" Frank asked in irritation, noticing Shawn and Lassiter staring at him.

"Nothing," Shawn said mildly. "How's the chicken?"

"'s good. So are the potatoes. You should eat!"

"Thanks, I had a big lunch. So, uh, you're feeling all right there, big guy?"

"Mr. Spencer," Sloane said, clearly aggravated, "why are you trying to ruin dinner?"

Shawn waved a hand in the air theatrically. "The vibes in this house are all out of whack, Sloane. I can try to do a cleansing on the place, but for that I'll need to see every room."

"I don't believe in your nonsense, Mr. Spencer. You're nothing more than a charlatan, and frankly I'm surprised that someone as sensible-seeming as Detective Lassiter would ever listen to a word you say."

Shawn mouthed the word "charlatan" to himself as he turned to see what Lassiter's reaction was to being brought into the discussion; mostly he just looked taken aback.

"It's Chief Vick's call as to whether or not we consult Spencer on a case," he said stiffly, and Shawn felt an unexpected pang at the disavowal, until Lassiter added grudgingly "he usually does an adequate job."

"Aww, I love working with you too, Lassie!"

Frank had so far failed to succumb to any sort of poison, and Sloane had taken a few bites as well, so maybe the food was safe after all. Claire was starting to eat too, but Shawn still wasn't certain he wanted to take the chance, and from the corner of his eye he could see that while Lassie was pushing the food around his plate with a fork, he hadn't actually eaten anything yet.

"Sloane, since our host was detained can you tell us anything about him?" Lassiter asked, as the young man who had brought in their dinners walked around the table refilling everyone's glasses.

"I'm sorry, while I did help make the arrangements, I don't really know anything. As the hotel manager, I was simply given a list of instructions. This is simply one of several events I've been busy organizing."

The waiter, who was standing on the other side of the table from Shawn pouring a fresh glass of wine for Frank, jerked his head in Sloane's direction and frowned, a reaction Shawn observed with some interest.

"I can't believe Robert is dead," Claire said, shaking her head sadly.

"Did you know him well?" Shawn asked. "I thought prosecutors and defense attorneys were natural enemies, like Liam and Noel Gallagher."

"Robert is – was – one of those guys with such a big personality that he made everyone feel like a friend. That's partially how he won so many cases. Juries loved him."

"What about you, Lassie? Did you know him?"

"He spent years defending the scum that I was trying to put away," Lassiter scowled, then hastened to add, "but that doesn't mean that he should have been murdered. One of his slimy clients probably turned on him."

"Most of his clients loved him," Claire said. "He usually won, or negotiated deals that were almost as good as winning. It's been years since he really lost a case. Do you remember, Carlton? The Harrison Griffin trial? I don't even think he wanted to win it, he –"

She was interrupted by a crack of thunder so loud that the house seemed to shake. The lights flickered ominously, but ultimately remained on.

"Sloane, does the hotel have a generator if the power goes out?" Lassiter asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. I'll have Casey round up all the flashlights and candles just in case."

"Casey?" Shawn asked. "Is that the waiter?"

"He's not really a waiter, he's more like a jack-of-all trades. Speaking of Casey, I should check on him and see if the dessert is ready to be served. Again, I can't apologize to all of you enough on behalf of your host about the way tonight has gone. Tomorrow, the rest of the guests will arrive along with the host, and I believe there are panel discussions and seminars planned. For tonight though, I'm afraid I don't really have any entertainment to offer. There's a game room down the hall that you're all welcome to enjoy."

After she had departed from the room, Claire said "It's so weird that she won't say the name of the guy who set this whole thing up."

"Everything about this weekend is weird," Lassiter agreed.

"I'm not worried," Frank said. "I spend every day in a maximum security facility with hundreds of murderers, and I'm always armed." He reached over and patted Claire on the hand. "If you get spooked honey, just stick with me. I'll keep you safe."

Claire pulled her hand away gingerly. "Thanks," she said, "but I'm armed too." At Shawn's look of surprise, she continued, "A few years ago I received death threats from a mob boss that my office was prosecuting, so I took some lessons in gun safety and got a permit. I always have it with me now."

"So I'm the only one at this table who isn't carrying?"Shawn asked. "You all disturb me."

Casey came back in and started refilling everyone's wine glasses. "Would anyone like dessert?"

"None for me, thanks," Claire said. "Hearing about Robert sort of made me lose my appetite."

Casey eyed Shawn and Lassiter's untouched plates with consternation. "Was something wrong with the food?"

"Not at all!" Shawn said cheerfully. "Lassie and I are doing one of those cleanses, you know, the kind where you can have only cayenne pepper and lemon juice. I have to do it periodically so that my aura is pure."

"Uh huh," Frank said skeptically, "and why are you doing it, Detective Lassiter?"

Before Lassiter could even begin to come up with an excuse, Shawn said "He read that Gwyneth Paltrow swore by it in _Us_ magazine."

"Right," Lassiter said, glaring at Shawn. "If everyone's done eating, why don't we take a look around the place, see if we can figure out who invited us here?"

"Oh," Casey said, looking embarrassed, "I'm sorry, but the only rooms open to the public are the dining room and the game room."

"Okay," Shawn said, "let's see what's on offer in the game room. I'm warning you all now, I am unbeatable at Uno."


	4. Chapter 4

Lassiter followed the group grumpily down the hall. What was the point of going into the only room in the house open to them? They weren't going to find anything out this way. He resolved to do as thorough of a search as possible after everyone else had gone to bed.

The game room was dominated by a giant billiards table, but Lassiter found his eyes drawn to a smaller table with a chess board set up on it. It was a beautiful wooden board with what appeared to be crystal pieces, but strangely there were only five pieces on the board – the King, Queen, Knight, Bishop, and Rook – and the Knight was broken in half.

"It's like the bed," Shawn said.

"What?" Lassiter asked, seeing that Spencer was also peering at the board with interest, while across the room Frank appeared to be trying to talk Claire into a game of pool.

"Everything in this place is meticulous," Shawn explained, "except for the lumpy bed and now the broken chess piece."

"You're saying it was left like this on purpose?"

Shawn shrugged and half-heartedly waved a hand near his head. "I'm sensing that it was, yes."

Lassiter ignored the psychic malarkey and went back to studying the chess board. "Why?" he wondered. "What would be the purpose?"

"I dunno. The horsey pieces were always my favorites."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "It's a Knight, Spencer. It…" he trailed off, struck by a sudden realization. "Knights are defenders. Robert Daly was a defense attorney."

"That's a pretty crazy leap, Lassie," Shawn said, but Lassiter noticed that he sounded approving, which should have been irritating, because the last thing he needed was Spencer's approval, but which was instead somehow gratifying.

"We need to search this place," Lassiter said. "It's the only way we're going to find any answers."

"Later," Shawn said dismissively, his attention apparently riveted on something else. "Right now, I have to go stop Frank from hitting on Claire any more tonight before she shoots him."

Lassiter looked over at the other two occupants of the room to see Frank leaning too close to Claire, apparently attempting to correct the way she was holding her pool cue; Claire looked like she was about five seconds away from stabbing him in the gut with it.

"Hey Frank," Shawn said "how about a game of darts? Lassie here won't play with me because he says my psychic powers give me an unfair advantage."

"That's not true!" Lassiter started to snap, but stopped when he realized that Frank was moving away from Claire, looking at Shawn with a competitive gleam in his eyes.

"I'm not afraid of your hocus pocus bullshit," he sneered, shooting a derisive look Lassiter's way. Lassiter forced himself to ignore it, even though he was dying to insist that he could beat them both at darts with one hand tied behind his back. Instead, he went over to stand beside Claire at the billiards table. She was watching Shawn make a production of choosing which dart to throw first, while Frank grew visibly more agitated.

"So Carlton, what's the story on Mr. Spencer? Is he really psychic?"

"Good god Claire, I can't believe you're even asking me that. There is no such thing as psychic powers. He's a fraud."

She raised her eyebrows at him dubiously. "If that's true, then why haven't you arrested him? I know you, Carlton. You love to arrest people."

"I can't prove it," Lassiter admitted, "and as much as I hate to say it, he does have a knack for solving cases. But that doesn't make him any less of a conman."

"I thought the two of you were friends," she said, looking surprised. "Well, actually I thought you might be more than friends. He's here this weekend, staying in the same room, and just the way he teases you, it's obvious that he likes you."

"He's not my friend, and he's certainly not anything more! I can't believe you would think something like that. He's just…" A nuisance? A guy who occasionally shared the same goals? Competition? Colleague? Person who was making him question his sexuality? "He's useful sometimes."

"He's cute," Claire said with a smile. "Since he's not dating you, do you know if he's dating anyone else?"

Lassiter stared at her in disbelief. "Are you insane? I just told you that he's a liar!"

She patted his arm soothingly. "I'm not planning on marrying him Carlton. I was just thinking he might be fun."

"_Fun_," he scoffed. "You deserve better, Claire."

Claire eyed Shawn as he threw a dart that was a perfect bullseye. "I don't know. I think he might be pretty good." She laughed at the expression on Lassiter's face. "Come on, Detective. Let's play some pool."

He played two games with Claire, winning the first and losing the second because he found himself increasingly distracted by watching Spencer annoy Frank.

"How do you keep winning?" Frank snapped in frustration, as Shawn's final dart landed in the middle of a tight cluster near the bullseye.

"I'm in complete harmony with the vibes in this room," Shawn said. "Claire must be too, because she just beat Lassie. Hey Claire, I propose a winner's match-up, just as soon as I return from the little boy's room."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Lassiter asked, thinking that he shouldn't let Spencer wander off alone.

Shawn raised his eyebrows. "To help me pee? Nah, I think I've got it."

Frank laughed while Lassiter frowned in embarrassment but ultimately let it roll off his back. Assuming Shawn would be going back to their room, he fished the key out of his pocket. "Here," he said, holding it out to Shawn, who looked at it for a moment as if he had no idea why he would need it, before taking it with a quick "Thanks, Lassie."

Frank refreshed his drink – as he had been doing throughout the night – and came to stand next to Lassiter. "I don't see how you can work with that guy," he grumbled.

"He can be annoying," Lassiter agreed, but felt compelled to add, "He does solve cases, though."

"Someone oughta teach him a lesson," Frank muttered, and Lassiter felt his temper rise.

"Watch it," he said sharply. "Spencer's a smartass, but he's also part of my team."

"Sorry," Frank said grudgingly after a moment, and Lassiter nodded curtly, wondering when the hell he had gotten so protective of Spencer. Oh right, probably about the time he had watched Drimmer clock him on the head with a gun.

Claire touched his shoulder lightly and Lassiter looked down at her, his expression softening. "Hey Carlton, before Shawn gets back, can you show me how to throw darts? I've never actually played before."

"Sure," Lassiter said, though he had the distinct feeling that Claire was more interested in lessening the tension in the room than in learning to play darts.

Shawn was gone longer than Lassiter expected, and he was just starting to wonder if it had been a mistake to let him go out on his own after all when he bounded back into the room, tossing the key at Lassiter, who caught it neatly while asking "What took you so long?"

"Got turned around when I came back downstairs and went down the wrong hall," Shawn said, which Lassiter knew immediately had to be a lie because Spencer had always seemed to have an excellent sense of direction.

He played two increasingly competitive games of pool with Frank while doing his best to ignore Shawn and Claire flirting with each other, before Claire yawned and admitted that she was ready to turn in for the night.

All four of them trooped upstairs, and Lassiter took a moment to reflect on how strange it was that they hadn't seen Sloane or Casey again after dinner as first Frank, then Claire opened the doors to their rooms.

"Lock your doors," Lassiter advised. Frank's only response was a grunt and to shut his door, but Claire lingered for a moment.

"Do you really think we're in some kind of danger?"

"I don't know," Lassiter admitted, "but everything about this weekend is making me uneasy. Just…keep your gun close at hand tonight, and if you don't mind, don't leave your room in the morning until Spencer or I come to get you."

She hesitated, clearly not loving that last recommendation, but nodded after a moment. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you in the morning, Carlton."

Back in their room, Shawn began a stream of mindless chatter designed, Lassiter realized, to keep whoever was listening in from getting suspicious.

"Andrew Ridgley was the heart and soul of Wham!, Lassie, and George Michael knew it. I think it's why he turned to drugs later," Shawn said, reaching into his backpack and pulling out two Snickers candy bars, one of which he tossed to Lassiter, who tore into it like a starving man, which he kind of was at that point.

"Here," Shawn said, after swallowing a mouthful of delicious chocolate and nougat, "I have their first album on my iPod. You listen and tell me if you hear the genius of Ridgley."

He pulled the iPod and a pair of tiny speakers out of the backpack (Lassiter was starting to think that it was like Mary Poppins's bag, endlessly producing whatever Spencer needed) and set it up right next to the lamp, turning up the volume.

Feeling that he needed to contribute to the conversation, Lassiter said "Spencer, I don't give a crap about Wham!."

"Oh, but you will, Lassie," Shawn said, gesturing for them to go into the bathroom, "Just listen."

After the bathroom door closed behind them, Shawn reached into his pocket and produced a key. "I think this will open most of the doors in the building."

Lassiter stared at it in disbelief. "Where did you get that?"

"I, uh, borrowed it from Casey."

"You mean you stole it from him."

Shawn shrugged. "Potato, poh-tah-to."

"Wait, when did you even have the opportunity?"

"You didn't really think I left to go to the bathroom, did you? Lassie, you should know better! I went on a little scouting mission. Casey was in the kitchen, washing the dishes, which was good because I wanted to ask him about how Sloane is a big lying liar."

"What did you find out?"

"Remember at dinner when Sloane said that this was only one of several events she was organizing? Not so much. Casey says that he was only hired a week ago, and that we're the first guests who have been here, and as far as he knows, we're the only guests scheduled to be here. He says most of the rooms don't even have furniture in them."

"So the key to figuring out what's going on is finding out who Sloane is. Good work, Spencer. I'm going to wait another hour, so that it's after midnight and hopefully everyone will think that we're asleep, and then I'm going to start searching the house."

"Yeah, you know I'm going with you, right?"

Lassiter had known this was going to happen, but he felt that it was still his job to try and dissuade Spencer, even if in the end it was useless. So he fixed Shawn with his sternest glare and said "You are going to stay here, lock the door behind me after I leave, and not open it again until I come back."

Shawn gave him a skeptical look. "Seriously Lassie, what do you think the likelihood of that happening is?"

Lassiter sighed in defeat. "Fine. I should have known better than to waste my breath. Stay close to me, and keep quiet."

"Yeah, I'll do what I can to be _useful_," Shawn said, stressing the last word, "even if I am just a conman."

Lassiter, who had been checking his gun, froze and looked up to see Shawn leaning against the door with his arms crossed, regarding him coolly. Shit.

"You heard that? How? You were on the other side of the room!"

Shawn smirked. "I must have heard it with my third ear."

"Don't you mean third eye?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Lassie, I can't hear anything with my eyes." His tone was flippant, but he actually looked a little hurt, which immediately made Lassiter feel defensive.

"You didn't hear me say anything that I haven't said to you before. If you're mad because you think I screwed up your chances with Claire, don't be. She thinks you're fun," he said, and he couldn't help it that the word "fun" came out sounding derisive and insulting.

"I know how opposed to fun you are, Lass, but some people actually like it. For the record, I think Claire would be fun too, even though she would be too high maintenance for me in the long run."

Lassiter snorted in contempt. "Why would that matter? Have you ever had any relationship that might be considered long term? Guster doesn't count."

Shawn leveled a look at him. "Owning Psych is long term, and without it your own case closure rate would be a little less impressive, which I guess is what makes me so useful. Think about that before you call me a conman again."

Lassiter blinked at him, taken aback by his uncharacteristic vehemence, and bit back the urge to argue with him. "We don't have time for this, Spencer."

Shawn took a deep breath as if to calm himself and said "You're right, we don't. We've been gone too long. I guess…we pretend to go to sleep?"

"Right. Remember to watch what you say out there."

"Yeah, I'll try not to fuck up," Shawn snapped, and went back out into the bedroom, leaving Lassiter to stare after him in mild bewilderment. He usually considered the fact that Spencer wasn't quick to anger to be one of his better qualities, so he was confused as to what had triggered his temper tonight. Just because Lassiter had called him a fraud? He did that on at least a weekly basis, and besides, it was true and they both knew it. Even now, it struck him as notable that Spencer hadn't denied being a con artist, just that he seemed pissed on being called out for it.

Shaking his head, he followed Shawn back into the bedroom. "So what do you think, Lassie?" Shawn asked loudly. "Did Wham! completely blow your mind?"

"I think I have a headache now," Lassiter grumbled. "Can you please turn that off? I want to get some sleep."

"There's nothing better than to drift off to sleep to the dulcet sounds of 'Careless Whisper'," Shawn said, but turned off the iPod. "So, which side of the bed do you want? Or do you just want to cuddle in the middle?"

Forgetting temporarily that neither of them planned on sleeping, Lassiter gaped at him for a moment before replying "You're the one who invited yourself along. You're going to sleep on the floor. I'll give you a pillow and a blanket."

"No can do Lassie, that would throw my back out. I have a very delicate system, you know. Don't worry, I've been told that I only steal some of the covers and I only snore after a big meal." Even as he spoke, Shawn was stretching out on top of the covers and pulling out his phone.

"Still no cell service," he said sadly. "I wanted to tell Gus about my epic wrestling match with the rattlesnake."

"There was no wrestling match, Spencer. You screamed like a girl. I shot it."

"Agree to disagree," Shawn said, opening up a game on his phone as Lassiter gingerly sat down on the other side of the bed.

"Where is Guster this weekend?" he asked, genuinely curious. "You two are usually joined at the hip."

"He's with Joy in San Francisco. He didn't want me to come along. Something about how my hotness was too dangerous to have around his sister."

Figuring that it wouldn't hurt to lie down for a few minutes, Lassiter made himself more comfortable on the bed, or at least as comfortable as he could be while still staying as far away from Shawn as possible.

"You did sleep with her once, didn't you?"

"How did you know about that?" Shawn demanded, and then backtracked quickly. "What I mean is, a gentleman never kisses and tells."

"I must have heard about it with my third ear," Lassiter muttered, and from the corner of his eye he could see the corner of Spencer's mouth turn up in a half smile, which pleased him, then immediately irritated him, because there was no reason for why he might feel good about making Spencer smile. No reason at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Shawn looked over at Lassiter, asleep on the other side of the bed. He had dozed off moments after allowing himself to relax, and Shawn had let him sleep because it wouldn't hurt for him to get a nap in before they searched the house, and also because he himself needed to do some thinking. Lassiter was usually so on guard around him – around everyone, actually – that it was strange to see him so relaxed. Asleep, without the lines of tension he normally carried around with him, he looked younger. Shawn let his eyes wander down, to the chest hair peeking out of the open vee of his shirt, admiring the broadness of his chest and shoulders. He wanted to lean over and pull open the buttons of that shirt, hear what kind of sound Lassie would make if Shawn bit at one of his nipples.

Hastily, he tore his eyes away. Chill, he told himself. There will be none of that. Besides, he was pissed off at Lassiter right now.

He had let Lassie get to him tonight in a way that he usually didn't. Typically, Lassie referring to him as useless or a fraud or a liar or whatever didn't bother Shawn; at least to himself he had to acknowledge that Lassiter was right about him not being a psychic, and he could understand why knowing that and yet not being able to prove it would make a man like Lassie, who spent his life trying to uncover the truth, crazy.

The fact that it was Lassiter's own fault for not believing him the first time he went to the police station was beside the point. Shawn normally didn't let the little barbs directed at him get under his skin. It was all part of the game they played with each other.

For some reason though, right now he was feeling more sensitive about it. Maybe it was because he had followed Lassiter here specifically to watch out for him, or maybe it was because that after Drimmer, he felt like they should have reached a new understanding in their professional relationship.

Or maybe it was because this weird attraction he felt for Lassie was growing in intensity, and in some way that he didn't even want to admit to himself, it kind of hurt his feelings to have Lassie disparage him.

Which, if that was the case, he needed to get over it, like, _yesterday_, because nothing was going to happen there.

He checked the time, then reached over to shake Lassiter awake, putting a finger to his lips as a reminder to be quiet as Lassie opened his eyes and drew in a breath to speak, no doubt to ream Shawn out for waking him from a sound sleep. After a brief second of looking confused, Lassiter nodded and sat up, checking his watch as he stood and stretched.

Shawn stood up as well, and as quietly as they could, the two of them went out into the hall, pausing first in front of Frank's door, behind which they could hear him snoring, and then at Claire's door, where they heard nothing but saw no sign that anything was amiss. Using his cell phone as a flashlight, Lassiter pointed to the stairs and Shawn followed him.

It was too bad that Gus couldn't be here, Shawn thought. He would have been freaking out at the whole situation, but his freaking out would help keep Shawn focused. Oh well, maybe he could use Lassiter as a distraction.

"Hey, you know what this reminds me of Lassie?" he whispered as they crept down the stairs. "That movie, with that woman. You know, the one who married Sean Connery."

"Be quiet, Spencer!"

"Pffft. I'm whispering! Besides, if anyone's down here, they're going to see the light from your phone and know we're here. So anyway, that movie, with the house. You know the one I mean!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Shawn pointed to the door behind the check-in desk. "Let's check the office first. One of the Wilson brothers was in it, the one with the funny-looking face. And that actress, you know, she played a murderer in that musical. She was super hot."

Lassiter tried the door and found it locked, but pulled out the key Shawn had given him earlier and tried it.

"Are you talking about _The Haunting_ with Catherine Zeta Jones? That movie was terrible, Spencer. Also, she's married to Michael Douglas, not Sean Connery."

"I've heard it both ways."

The door opened and they eased into the office.

Shawn went to the desk while Lassiter pulled open a drawer in a filing cabinet and found…nothing.

"What the hell?" Lassiter said. "This cabinet is empty."

"So is this," Shawn said, gesturing to the desk after opening a few more drawers. "Well, aside from a comb and some lipstick." There was a also a picture of a little girl, but Shawn didn't draw Lassiter's attention to it. The girl looked to be about ten years old, and her blond hair and blue eyes made her coloring all wrong to be the daughter or sister of brunette, brown-eyed Sloane. Shawn tucked it back into the drawer where he had found it and asked "What now?"

"We keep searching," Lassiter said.

After exiting the room, Shawn went to the front desk, where he found the appointment book that Sloane had looked at when Lassiter had checked in. Flipping it open, he found that all of the pages were blank.

"This is creepy. It's like no one was ever here," Shawn said, opening drawers and cabinets in the desk to verify that they were all bare. "Maybe this is a haunted hotel! Maybe we're in _The Shining_, or that movie with John Cusack about the ghost hotel room. Sloane being a ghost would explain why she was so cold towards me."

"We're not in a movie!" Lassiter snapped irritably, making Shawn smile to himself. Annoying Lassie was almost as good as trying to scare the pants off Gus.

"Let's see what's behind door number two," he said, going up to a door a short ways down the hall from the desk. He twisted the knob, fully expecting it to be locked, and was surprised when it opened easily for him.

Lassiter came up behind him and asked, "What is this?"  
"I'm not sure yet," Shawn said, starting to take a step forward at the same instant that he realized that in front of him was only open air. For a sickening instant he thought that he was about to fall into the empty space in front of him, but then Lassiter's arm looped around his waist and pulled him backwards.

Behind him was the solid warmth of Lassiter's body, and in front of him was an empty space. Even with the aid of the light from his cell phone, he couldn't see a floor.

"What the hell?" Lassiter asked shakily, as Shawn peered down into the darkness below.

"I guess it's the basement," Shawn said, after he had his breathing under enough control that he felt like he could speak again. "Only someone forgot to put in a staircase."

Lassiter's arm was still around him, his hand spread out across Shawn's chest, and Shawn could feel his heartbeat jackrabbiting away under Lassie's palm.

"The door was unlocked?" Lassiter asked.

"Yeah. You remember how I was looking for a booby trap earlier? I think this is it."

"Can you see anything down there?"

"No."

Lassiter took a step back, pulling Shawn with him, and then released him and stepped away, as if he realized that he had been holding him for longer than necessary. Shawn mourned the loss of his closeness even as something new caught his attention.

"Do you hear that?"

There was a knocking sound coming from down the hall. Shawn started off in the direction of the noise, only to be pulled to a stop by Lassiter.

"I go first," Lassiter said in a tone that brooked no argument, though under normal circumstances, Shawn would indeed argue, just for the fun of it if for no other reason. At the moment however, he was more than willing to let Lassie take the lead.

The two of them crept down the hallway, Lassiter with his gun in hand, towards what Shawn realized was the kitchen where he had spoken to Casey earlier. While Lassiter pushed the door open, Shawn grabbed a vase from a nearby table to use as a weapon if necessary.

The first thing he noticed was that the back door was open and due to the light wind outside was banging gently against the doorframe.

The second thing he noticed was Casey sprawled out on the floor, apparently dead. He dropped to his knees beside the body, checking for a pulse, and noticed burn marks on Casey's right hand and a coffeepot lying on the floor nearby.

Lassiter, who had gone outside to see if he there was any sign of the perpetrator, came back into the kitchen and scowled at Shawn.

"Spencer, get away from the body. You're going to disturb the evidence."

"He was electrocuted," Shawn said, ignoring Lassiter's order to move away from the body. "I think he was setting up the coffeepot so it would come on automatically in the morning with a timer, and when he plugged it in…"

"So it was an accident?"

Shawn stood up. "Yeah, the same way there was a snake in your bed and no stairs to the basement. There are way too many accidents waiting to happen around here."

Lassiter had pulled out his phone and was looking at it in utter frustration. "Still no cell service. I think it's time that we got Claire and Frank and got out of here."

"Yeah, I don't want to wait around for a chandelier to fall on me," Shawn agreed. "But hang on a second." He leaned back over the body and carefully fished Casey's wallet out of his pocket, flipping it open to see his ID. "Casey Whitehall," he read. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

Lassiter's brow furrowed. "Whitehall…that name is familiar, but I can't place it. It doesn't matter right now. We have a crime scene. We'll wake up Claire and Frank and get the hell out of here. As soon as one of us gets a signal on our phone, we'll call for back up."

They went back upstairs, not bothering to be quiet about it anymore, Lassiter going to Frank's door and Shawn to Claire's. When she didn't answer after the third knock Shawn started to get worried, but just as he was about to call Lassie over with the master key, she opened the door, pulling a robe closed around her.

"Shawn, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry to wake you Claire, but you need to put some clothes on. We're getting out of here. Lassie and I just found a body in the kitchen."

"What?" she asked, looking horrified. "Who?"

"Casey. You remember, our waiter from tonight."

"Oh my god, how terrible! Give me a minute to change clothes, and I'll be right out."

A short time later, Claire and Frank were dressed and ready to go. They had just gotten to the top of the stairs when Claire paused to adjust one of her sandals, putting her hand on the banister railing to steady herself. Before Shawn could so much as blink, the railing under her hand fell away and she lost her balance. He reached out and grabbed her arm, realizing at the same time that Lassiter had done the same on her other side, and pulled her away from the edge.

"Holy shit!" she gasped.

"Are you all right?" Shawn asked, looking wide-eyed down at where the broken railing had splintered into pieces when it hit the marble floor.

"I don't know. I mean, yeah, I guess I'm fine."

Lassiter let go of her so that he could bend down and get a better look at where the railing had broken away. The edges of the wood were smooth, not jagged. The railing had been cut.

"This house is a deathtrap," he said grimly. "We need to get out of here."

Minutes later, all four of them were making their way down to the parking lot. Claire asked after Sloane, but given the emptiness of the office, Shawn wasn't inclined to worry about her. Without a doubt, she was behind all of this, though he still had no idea what her motive might be.

Outside, it was still raining lightly. Lassiter led the way to his car but stopped so suddenly that Shawn nearly ran into him.

"Damn it!" Lassiter yelled, and Shawn followed his gaze to see that the tires on his car had all been slashed. It only took a moment to determine that the same was true for all of their vehicles.

Unsure of what to do next, they went back into the house, where it was at least dry. Once inside, Shawn had a sudden thought and made a beeline for the game room.

When he flipped the switch to turn the light on, nothing happened. "Power's out!" he called behind him to the others, and heard Lassiter curse again. The rain had tapered off, so he doubted that it was the weather that had caused the electricity to go out. The battery on his phone wasn't going to last much longer, but he still had enough light that he could see the chess board, where in addition to the broken Knight, the Bishop had also been destroyed, smashed into glittery pieces.

"It's just a few hours until sunrise," he could hear Lassiter saying behind him. "We'll just lock ourselves into a room together and when it's light out, we'll walk to the highway. Maybe from there at least one of us will be able to get a phone signal. Spencer, you're battery is about to die. The rest of us should try and not use our phones for light again until we have to."

"Who put you in charge?" Frank grumbled, but followed the others.

"Why would Sloane do something like this?" Claire wondered. "I mean, it had to be her, right?"

"She's in on it somehow, but I'm not convinced that she set it all up herself. I think she's working with someone."

"Maybe no one set it up," Frank suggested. "Maybe it was just an accident."

"Yeah, and our tires we're 'accidentally' slashed too?" Shawn asked derisively. "Someone is behind this."

Lassiter caught sight of the chess board and the smashed bishop just as the battery in Shawn's phone finally gave out, plunging the room into almost complete darkness.

"Someone's playing with us," Lassiter said grimly.

"We need to figure out who it is" Shawn said. "Come on, what case do the three of you have in common? How do Casey and Sloane fit in?"

"Shouldn't you be telling us that, psychic?" Frank sneered.

Shawn started to put his hand to his head for a big psychic reveal, and then stopped himself as he realized that in the dark, no one could see what he was doing. It was pointless to go through with the dramatic gestures if he couldn't enjoy the pained expression on Lassie's face. "I'm sensing that Robert Daly's death is connected with all of this as well. It's no coincidence that he died on the same night that you were all brought here."

He can practically _hear_ Lassiter rolling his eyes in the darkness. "Yeah, that's a very helpful 'vision', Spencer. Like I hadn't figured that one out already. Tell me something I don't know."

"The role of Duckie in _Pretty in Pink_ was originally supposed to have been played by Robert Downey Jr."

There was a moment of silence in the darkness, before Lassiter said "It's true, I didn't know that. It would have changed the entire dynamic of the movie. However, I was hoping for something a little more relevant to our current situation."

Shawn closed his eyes and thought back to the area around Lassiter's car and remembering the shape of the footprints in comparison to the pointy heels Sloane had been wearing earlier, he said "Sloane might not be the murderer, but she did slash our tires. Her feet must be killing her by now."

"What else do we know?" Lassiter asked.

"He's rich," Shawn said bluntly. "Or at least he's got a lot of resources at his disposal. And he's probably listening to everything we're saying right now."

"What are you talking about?" Frank asked.

"Our room was bugged," Lassiter explained. "Probably all of them are."

"You couldn't have told us that sooner?" Frank snapped.

"Does anyone have a lighter?" Shawn interrupted. "There's a candle on the bookcase here."

"I do," Claire said, and Shawn could hear the sound of her unzipping her purse, followed by the feeling of her hand on his shoulder. "Is that you, Shawn?"

"Yeah," he said, and a moment later the lighter was in his hand. He went to the bookcase where he remembered seeing the candle before and reached unerringly for it. Once lit, the candle didn't provide much light, but at least he could see where everyone in the room was now.

"Back to the matter at hand," Lassiter said. "Who's behind this?"

"Think back, Lassie. It has to be someone you arrested, who Claire prosecuted, who Robert Daly defended, and who ended up in Frank's prison. Wait…Claire, what was it you said at dinner about Daly being relieved that he had lost a case?"

Claire nodded. "The Harrison Griffin trial. You did make that arrest, didn't you Carlton?"

"Holy crap," Lassiter said. "The key witness in that trial was Frederick Whitehall. His testimony was really what put Griffin away." He looked over at Shawn. "I remember hearing that he died a couple of years ago. Cancer. Casey could have been his son."

"Wait," Shawn said. "Harrison Griffin. Wasn't he the Back Bay Killer?"

"That's right. He should still be in prison, though. He received consecutive life sentences."

"He is still in prison," Frank said. "I should know, because he's in my prison."

Now that he was thinking about it, Shawn was remembering more and more of the details of the case. It had happened before Psych, before he was working for the SBPD, but he had watched the case closely and called in the tip that had been the big break. Harrison Griffin had been young, handsome, and a complete psychopath. He had murdered six people before the police – Lassiter – caught him, and the resulting trial had been something of a local media circus.

"Didn't he do something with electricity to kill one of his victims?"

"Yeah, he rigged the wiring in the house of the third victim to cause a fire."

"And he was rich too, right?"

"Right, he had inherited millions from his mother's side of the family. He was also a diabolical son of a bitch. He liked to terrorize his victims before he killed them, so this kind of scenario suits him. But if he's still in prison, then how could he be behind this?"

"Did he have family? A wife, kids?"

"There was a wife and a daughter," Lassiter confirmed, "but his wife hated him after she realized that he was guilty. She took the daughter and left town before the trial even started, and only came back to testify against him."

"How old was the daughter?"

"No, I know what you're thinking, but she would only be about twelve now. Sloane is not his daughter."

"Girlfriend, maybe?" Shawn mused. "She could be one of those chicks who gets off on dating serial killers in prison."

"Maybe," Lassiter agreed, "but if Griffin is still in prison, then who is her partner here in the hotel?"

"This is ridiculous," Frank snapped. "Do you think I wouldn't know if Griffin were hatching a scheme like this? His mail is monitored, his visitors are monitored, he can't take a piss without me knowing about it."

"I find it strange that you would want to know that," Shawn said, "but I'm not here to judge."

"Maybe he's smarter than you think he is," Lassiter interjected, "or maybe your systems don't work as well as you think they do."

"What the hell are you implying, Lassiter?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm saying maybe you or one of your guards screwed up somehow."

Ah, Lassiter's legendary tact. Shawn was wondering if it would be worthwhile to try and step in and play mediator as Frank said "You can't prove that!"

"If Griffin's behind this scheme, and from the evidence it seems likely that he is, then I don't have to prove anything! It's obvious that there was a fuck-up on your end."

"I don't have to take this bullshit," Frank said angrily. "I'm going back to my room."

"Frank, don't," Shawn said. "It's safer if we all stick together."

"I'm not scared of whoever murdered that kid," Frank said. "I told you earlier that I was armed. If anyone tries to mess with me, he'll be in for a surprise."

Using his cell phone as a flashlight, Frank stomped out of the room. They could hear his heavy footsteps going back up the stairs.

"Good job, Lassie," Shawn said wearily

"The man's a jackass!"

"Takes one to know one," Shawn muttered.

"Look who's talking!" Lassiter snapped back.

"Stop it!" Claire said sharply. "The last thing we need is to fight anymore amongst ourselves. Carlton, I think you're right that we should wait until it's light out and then get the hell out of here. The main highway is only three or four miles away, and from there we should be able to get a ride to the nearest town. We just need to stay calm until then."

Shawn bounced on his toes restlessly. "So we're just going to sit here like, uh, sitting ducks? I'd rather keep searching the place."

"Spencer, we don't have any way to see, and we don't know how many other people are in this house aside from Sloane. Assuming Griffin is still in prison, he has at least one other person working for him here in the hotel. What?" he asked, as even in the flickering light of the candle he could see the expression on Shawn's face change as he took in Lassiter's words.

"I'm such an _idiot_," Shawn breathed out, smacking himself on the forehead and thinking that if Henry were here, he would be mocking Shawn for not seeing what was right in front of him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Frank's car, Lassie. Didn't you see it?" Shawn had only caught a glimpse of it when they had gone out to the parking lot earlier, a cherry red Porsche 911. It had to be Frank's; the only other car aside from Lassie's in the lot was a conservative gray BMW that he knew belonged to Claire due to the Santa Barbara courthouse parking pass hanging from the rearview mirror.

"Sweet Lady Justice," Lassiter swore, as realization struck. "He's driving a Porsche."

Waving his hands impatiently, Shawn said, "Exactly. Tell me how he could afford that on a prison warden's salary."

In contrast to Shawn's agitation, Lassiter had gone very still. "He's in on it. Griffin paid him off."

He had no sooner gotten the words out when there was a gunshot from upstairs.

"Shit!" Lassiter pulled out his gun and headed for the door. Shawn and Claire followed, Claire using her phone to light the way.

"You two stay behind me," Lassiter ordered, taking the stairs two at a time, until he reached Frank's door, which he kicked open.

"Wow," Claire whispered beside Shawn.

"I know," Shawn whispered back. "No one displays manly competence quite like Lassie does."  
Once inside the room, the first thing Shawn saw was Frank slumped over in a chair, an implement of some sort sticking out of his chest and a dark stain spreading across his shirt, his gun lying uselessly on the floor beside him. Shawn knelt down in front of him and felt for a pulse, but he was already dead.

Lassiter was searching the room for the perpetrator; Shawn could hear him throwing open the closet door and then going into the bathroom, Claire trying to keep up with him so that he would have some light to see by.

"Goddamn it, where did he go?" Lassiter asked in frustration, coming back to where Shawn was standing next to Frank's body. He looked down at the weapon protruding from Frank's chest. "Is that…?"

"I'm pretty sure it's a shiv made from a spoon," Shawn confirmed. "Kind of cliché for a prison warden, don't you think?"

"Have some respect for the classics, boy," drawled a voice from behind them, while at the same time Claire's phone clattered to the floor. Shawn and Lassiter both spun around to see Harrison Griffin himself standing behind Claire, his arm looped tightly around her neck and a gun held to her head.


	6. Chapter 6

"Carlton!" Claire gasped, as Griffin tightened his hold on her.

"Let her go!" Lassiter demanded, bringing his gun up. With Claire in the way though, there was no chance of him getting a clear shot.

"You're not even supposed to be here," Griffin continued, glaring at Shawn.

"I can't understand why no one wants me here," Shawn said glibly. "I'm so much fun at parties! And technically, I should have gotten an invitation too. After all, I am the one who tipped Lassiter off about your blue sedan."

"Spencer, shut up!" Lassiter yelled in exasperation. It was astonishing to him that someone so clearly intelligent had no apparent filter on his mouth.

Griffin continued to hold Claire in place in front of him, but pulled the gun away from her head to aim it at Shawn. "Is that right?" he asked. "I've read about you in the papers, but I had no idea that you had played a part in my incarceration."

"That's right. My psychic powers led me right to you. I'm like the wild card in your little game! In your chess scenario downstairs, if Lassie is the King and Claire is the Queen, I'm the Joker!"

Griffin's forehead furrowed in confusion. "There is no Joker in chess," he said.

"At least one of the pawns is secretly a joker in every game," Shawn said.

While Spencer babbled his usual nonsense and distracted Griffin, Lassiter was trying to get into a position where he could either tackle the man and disarm him, or shoot him without endangering Claire or Shawn. Unfortunately, Griffin realized what he was doing.

"Don't try it, Detective. Your little boyfriend here will be dead before you can touch me."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Lassiter protested. "Why does everyone keep saying things like that?"

"You know you'd be lucky to have me, Lassie," Shawn said. "Hey Claire, don't worry. My senses are telling me that everything is going to be okay."

Lassiter looked back at Claire, who had tears running down her face and was having difficulty breathing due to Griffin's arm around her throat.

"Give it up, Griffin. You're not going to get out of this. Even if you manage to kill us all, the authorities will figure out by morning that you've escaped from prison and they'll know that you're responsible."

Griffin stepped backwards towards the door, his gun still pointed at Shawn. "That's the plan, Lassiter. I WANT everyone to know what the price was for catching me. By the time they find your bodies, I'll be out of the country, starting a new life with a new identity." Turning his head a fraction of an inch, he bellowed down the hall, "Hey Sloane, I need some light up here so I can see where I'm going," before focusing his attention once again on the pair in front of him.

"I'm curious," Shawn said, "how did you escape from prison?"

"It's not so hard when you have the warden on your payroll," Griffin replied with a smirk. "On Monday the guards will realize that the prisoner they have in solitary confinement isn't me, but by then, it will be too late."

As he spoke, the lights came back on and Griffin continued to move backwards, towards the staircase, still holding Claire as a human shield. As they got closer to the stairs she began to struggle, but he brought the gun back up to her head in warning.

"So, you turned the electricity off, it wasn't the storm?" Shawn said, hoping to keep Griffin talking. Too much monologuing had been the downfall of many a villain, after all.

"The weather tonight was merely a very good opportunity that I took advantage of," Griffin said. "It doesn't have anything to do with your phones not working either, by the way. You have the cell signal jammer in one of the empty bedrooms to thank for that."

"Now, you two stay right there," he ordered, as Shawn and Lassiter reached the top of the stairs. "If you make one move to come down, she's dead."

There was a familiar, disturbing odor in the air that Shawn noticed, but he was too busy focusing on Griffin and Claire to pay much attention to it.

Griffin moved confidently down the stairs, his grip on Claire never wavering. "You're supposed to already be dead, Lassiter," he said as he reached the first floor, "It's harder than it looks to set up booby traps to murder people with, and now my patience is gone and I'm ready to move on. Sloane honey, is everything ready?"

Sloane appeared from beneath the stairs, gripping something Shawn couldn't quite see in her hand. "Yeah baby, we're ready to go."

"Sloane," Lassiter called down to her, "it's not too late. Help us stop him and I'll make sure you get immunity."

She looked up at him, genuine confusion written across her face. "Why would I do that? I'm about to have everything I've ever wanted." Her gaze moved to Shawn. "Funny how you didn't see any of this coming, psychic."

"I don't have to be psychic to know that if you don't help us, things are going to end very badly for you, Sloane," Shawn said seriously. "Do you seriously think you can trust this guy? He's insane!"

"He loves me," Sloane said with conviction.

"Is that so?" Lassiter asked, and shifted to aim his gun at her instead of at Griffin. "If you don't let Claire go, I'm going to shoot Sloane."

Griffin just laughed. "Light it up, babe," he said to Sloane, and before Shawn could even think to react, she pulled a match out of the box she was holding in her hand and lit it, tossing it onto the stairs, where it caught immediately.

"Good girl. Thanks for all your help," Griffin said, before taking the gun from Claire's head, pointing it at Sloane, and shooting. Sloane slumped to the ground, the bullet hitting her in the chest. Claire screamed, but the sound was cut off abruptly as, with one brutal motion, Griffin broke her neck and dropped her to the floor.

For Shawn, it felt like a red haze filled his vision, a combination of rage and fear that he had never known before overtaking him. He heard Lassiter get a couple of shots off, but Griffin was already out the door.

Flames were shooting up the staircase, making it impossible for them to descend. Already, the bottom half of the stairs had nearly been obliterated.

"That _bastard_," Shawn gasped, mere words feeling inadequate to express his anger. "Lassie we have to get downstairs! Claire…"

"Spencer," Lassiter said urgently grabbing his arm to keep him from trying to test the staircase and pulling him back, towards the bedrooms, "It's too late. We can't help Claire. We have to find a way out of here. Sloane must have doused the rug on the stairs with gasoline. Did you see another way downstairs?"

Shawn closed his eyes, forcing himself to think. "No," he said after a moment. "This is the only set of stairs I've seen. This place was built as a home, not a hotel, so I guess emergency exits weren't exactly on the agenda."

The smoke was starting to get overwhelming, and they ducked into what had been their room, shutting the door to try and keep the fire at bay for as long as possible.

"There's only one other way out of here that I can see," Shawn said grimly.

"What?" Lassiter asked, then saw that Shawn was looking at the balcony doors. "No. Oh, no. That's insane, Spencer!"

"I'm open to suggestions! Do you have any better ideas? Please, please have a better idea."

Outside the room, they could hear the snap and pop of the fire. Smoke was starting to seep in under the door. Reluctantly, Lassiter followed Shawn outside onto the balcony.

He peered down into the darkness below them, but couldn't see a damn thing. "There could be rocks," he pointed out.

"Does it matter?" Shawn asked. "It's not like we have much of a choice."

Lassiter looked back, at the flames already starting to engulf the room behind them. Spencer was right; there was no choice at all. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked it away. They only had a few minutes left before the fire would start eating away at the balcony.

"I always thought that if I had a Butch and Sundance moment like this, Gus would be the one with me," Shawn said pensively, "but I'm glad he's safe in San Francisco and not here."

"I just hope this ends up like Butch and Sundance jumping into the river and not like Thelma and Louise going over the cliff," Lassiter said nervously.

"Yeah," Shawn agreed, his voice shaking a little. "So, were you into Thelma or Louise? I always thought Susan Sarandon was hot…" he trailed off, staring at Lassiter's hand, which was suddenly gripping his arm, but then started talking again "and of course, between Butch and Sundance, there's obviously no choice, not when Paul Newman has those to-die-for blue eyes." He looked up at Lassiter seriously. "They kind of remind me of yours."

"Spencer, you're babbling," Lassiter said gruffly. "Don't lose your nerve now. If we're going to do this, we need to just do it."

Shawn nodded. "Yeah. Just one thing before we do," he said, and reaching up with both hands, he pulled Lassiter down into a kiss.

Lassiter was so shocked that for a moment he just stood there dumbly as Shawn pressed up against him, his mouth sliding against Carlton's. But it wasn't as if he hadn't been thinking about doing something like this for days (years?), and also, they were probably about to die, so he wrapped his arms around Spencer to pull him closer and kissed him back desperately, as if it was the last thing he would ever do.

There was a crash from behind them, and they both turned to see that the ceiling had started to collapse in the bedroom and now the fire was only moments away from encroaching on the balcony.

"It's now or never," Lassiter said, and Shawn kissed him quickly one more time, then nodded.

"See you on the other side, Lassie," he said in as casual a tone as he could muster. They climbed over the railing of the balcony and after one last look at each other, they jumped.

Hitting the water was a cold, hard, painful shock, and it took a few terrifying seconds after he was submerged for Lassiter to break the surface and gulp down fresh air.

"Lassie!" Shawn's voice, laced with panic.

"Here!" Lassiter managed to wheeze out, relieved beyond words to hear Shawn's voice.

"Oh, thank god!" Shawn gasped. Lassiter looked around desperately; the fire from above them illuminating enough so that he finally managed to spot Shawn, treading water about 20 feet away.

"The shore is that way," Shawn yelled, gesturing briefly, and Lassiter started swimming in the direction indicated. When he finally pulled himself onto dry land, it was all he could do to roll over and take a few deep breaths. He could hear the sound of Shawn breathing nearby, and when he finally felt steady enough he sat up and looked around, just in time to see the remains of the balcony they had been standing on fall into the ocean.

"Holy shit," Shawn said, "Gus is not going to believe this!"

Lassiter turned to look at him, soaking wet and bedraggled, and in the moonlight he could make out a thin dark line of blood running down his arm.

"Shawn, you're bleeding. What happened?"

Shawn looked down at his arm in surprise. "I think maybe I scraped it on some coral? I'm fine Lassie, really. What about you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. We need to get out of here. If he realizes that we survived the fire…"

Shawn started to stand up, then quickly sat back down. "Hang on a minute. My legs aren't working yet."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lassiter asked, concerned. He reached over to pull at Shawn's sleeve, to try and see where he was bleeding from. At his touch, Shawn jumped slightly, and Lassiter suddenly remembered that Spencer had kissed him. He resolutely pushed away the memory. It was a we're-about-to-die fluke and nothing more.

Shawn shook his head like he was clearing the water out of his ears. "You're right Lassie, we need to get out of here. There's got to be someplace around here with a phone. After the unexpected swim, I think ours are both probably toast." He attempted to stand up again and this time remained upright, so Lassiter staggered to his feet as well. He would never say it in front of Spencer, but all he really wanted to do was lie back down on the ground and pass out for a while. His waterlogged clothes made him feel heavy and cold, and he was starving, and he felt perilously close to whining.

Looking up, Shawn pointed at the sky. "There's the North Star, so I think the highway is going to be…that way?" he suggested, indicating a nearby wooded area.

"How do you know that?" Lassiter asked, unwilling to admit that he had no idea where the North Star was, much less how it related to their current location.

"Oh, you know," Shawn said in an offhanded way as he set out towards the woods, "Camping trips when I was a kid. Henry would leave me and Gus somewhere in the woods and we would have to find our way back to the campsite using the North Star."

Lassiter paused for a moment, struck by the thought of a tiny Shawn and Gus lost in the woods at night, but quickly shook it off to catch up with Spencer.


	7. Chapter 7

They walked nearly half a mile in silence. To Lassiter, it felt like there was an overwhelming jumble of things swarming around in his head. He should have figured out that it was Griffin sooner. He should have taken Claire and Shawn and left right after the incident with the snake. He would never forgive himself for not being able to save Claire. Griffin was going to pay.

Shawn had kissed him. He reached up reflexively and touched his mouth. That hadn't been a dream, right?

"Don't worry, Lassie," Shawn said quietly, "I'm not going to kiss you again."

Lassiter dropped his finger from his mouth like had been scalded and scowled at Shawn, as useless as it was in the near darkness. Why not? He wanted to ask, but thankfully what he actually said was "I don't know why you did it in the first place! What the hell were you thinking?"

Shawn shrugged. "I thought we might die. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. And I might add, you didn't seem to mind.

Lassiter looked away, embarrassed. "Yeah, well, I was just trying to keep you calm."

"Good work, Detective," Shawn said gravely. "It was especially soothing when you stuck your tongue in my mouth."

Lassiter felt his face heat up. "You started it! Christ, Spencer, you're not gay, so I don't understand…" he trailed off because suddenly, Shawn was looking anywhere but at him. "Are you?" he asked, confused.

"No, not gay," Shawn agreed, but Lassiter could sense his hesitance.

"You flirt with a lot of women," he pointed out. "A surprising number of them turn out to be criminals of some type, but that probably doesn't have anything to do with your sexual orientation."

In the gray light of the pre-dawn hours, Lassiter could see Shawn rub at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation, which he found fascinating because it was so unlike Spencer to seem self-conscious about anything.

"There are more choices than just straight and gay, Lassie. You of all people should know that. Let's just say I'm flexible. Can we please keep that just between us, though? I have a strict straight-in-Santa-Barbara policy that I abide by."

Lassiter thought about that for a moment, frowning. "Wait, are you saying…does Guster not know?"

"Congratulations," Shawn said a little grimly, "you now know something about me that my best friend doesn't. How about we make a pact to make sure he never knows."

"Your secret's safe with me," Lassiter said gruffly, still trying to process everything he had just learned.

"Yeah," Shawn said, "because it's not just my secret, is it?"

It wasn't so much fun to have the question turned back around on him.

"Let's just forget it ever happened," Lassiter said, trying not to feel disappointed by his own suggestion

"Yeah, sure, Lassie. That would probably be for the best."

They walked on. Looking up at the sky, Lassiter could see a hint of light; the sun would be rising soon.

Shawn stopped suddenly. "Do you smell that?" he whispered.

Lassiter sniffed the air experimentally. "Is that…marijuana?"

"Yeah," Shawn confirmed, a hint of laughter in his voice, "I think we're about to stumble on someone's campsite. Try not to arrest them at least until after we've found a working phone."

They emerged from a grove of trees into a small clearing, where there was indeed a tent and the remains of a campfire.

"Hello?" Shawn called loudly. "This is your early morning wake up call!"

From inside the tent, there were thumping noises and a grumbled "What the hell?"

"We need to use your phone," Lassiter called out. "It's an emergency."

A floppy haired young man emerged from the tent, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "What?" he asked, staring at Shawn and Lassiter uncomprehendingly.

"Your phone," Lassiter repeated. "We need to use it. Now."

"You'll have to forgive my impatient friend," Shawn said smoothly. "We've had a rough night and we need to call the police."

"The cops? I don't know man," the camper replied uneasily.

"Teddy, what's going on?" a woman came out of the tent, looking around in confusion.

Ignoring her, Lassiter said testily, "The cops are already here, _Teddy_. I don't care about your recreational drug use at the moment, but if you don't hand over your phone right now I'm going to arrest you for obstruction of justice."

Looking completely terrified, Teddy pulled a phone out of his pocket and handed it over to Lassiter. With that taken care of, Shawn began scanning the campsite and immediately spotted something of great interest.

"Oh my god, is that a bag of Cheetos? Please tell me that you didn't eat them all during a pot-fueled munchie spree last night."

Looking bemused, the woman handed over the bag. "This one was supposed to be for tonight," she informed him, "but you look like you need it. I'm Rachel, by the way."

"Shawn," he said by way of introduction, already ripping the bag open and stuffing a few delicious crunchy fake-cheese flavored curls into his mouth, "this is the best thing I've ever eaten," he added dreamily.

Rachel peered at him worriedly. "Are you okay? You guys look thrashed."

Shawn swallowed and attempted to wipe cheese dust off his mouth. "Actually, we were targeted by a serial killer who escaped from prison and who has a vendetta against Detective Lassiter here," he said, nodding in the direction of Lassiter, who was speaking on the phone with someone while getting details of their exact location from Teddy.

"Riiiiight," Rachel said disbelievingly. "Are you sure you didn't just smoke some bad weed, dude?"

"I will have you know that I am the head psychic for the Santa Barbara Police Department," Shawn informed her. "And the only thing I've had to eat since lunch yesterday is a Snickers bar. Don't hold out on me, Rachel, I know you have more delicious snack foods here somewhere. Or something to drink. I would kill for something to drink."

She opened a cooler and pulled out a couple of sodas, one of which she handed to him wordlessly.

"You're a goddess among women," he informed her, just as Lassiter came up beside him and snatched the Cheetos bag out of his hand. "Hey! I was eating those!"

"Don't be greedy, Spencer, I'm just as hungry as you are. Thank you," he added, as Rachel handed him the other soda. "The local sheriff is sending a car for us. We're only about a mile and a half from the highway. I had him put an APB out for Griffin. He said there were firefighters on the scene of the hotel now."

"Great," Shawn said. "Hey, Rachel, I'm sensing that you have a box of mallomars in that backpack, and that terrible things will happen if you don't give them to me and Lassie."

Less than half an hour later they were joined by two sheriff's deputies, who led them up to the road where a paramedic was waiting.

"We don't have time for this!" Lassiter snapped, as the medic attempted to check his vitals. "Griffin is out there somewhere. If we act fast, maybe we can catch him before he gets out of the state."

"We've set up roadblocks throughout the area and are coordinating with state authorities to conduct a full-blown manhunt," the officer who had introduced himself as Deputy Olleander said, "so there's not much you can do from here. We're going to need you to come down to the station to make a complete statement about what happened, but you two look like you've been through the wringer. Let Keisha here take a look at you."

The paramedic – Keisha, Shawn surmised – was already pulling at his sleeve. "You've got blood all over your arm," she said. "What happened?"

Shawn shrugged. "I scraped it on something. No big deal."

She peeled the sleeve up and away from his skin and frowned. "This is going to need stitches."

"Huh," Shawn said, looking at the wound she had uncovered and feeling suddenly a little woozy, "look at that."

Lassiter stopped insisting that they didn't need medical attention and stared at the ugly gash in Shawn's arm in consternation. "Spencer! Why didn't you tell me that it was that bad?"

"I didn't realize that it was," Shawn admitted. "I think I'd like to sit down now."

"You've both been running on adrenaline," Keisha said, leading him to the back of the ambulance, where the doors were open and he could sit down. "Let me check you over and get you patched up, and then you can go catch bad guys or whatever it is that you do."

Shawn watched Lassiter pace while Keisha cleaned and stitched up his arm. One of the deputies had lent Lassie a phone and Shawn had heard enough of his conversation to know that he had called Chief Vick to let her know what had happened. Since he had been there for the events of the night, he tuned Lassie out and refocused on Keisha.

"On a scale of Homer Simpson to Denzel Washington, how sexy do you think this scar is going to be?"

She didn't look up from her work, but he could see the corner of her mouth turn up in a smile. "It will be at least at a McConaughey level of heat, but you'll have to have your shirt off or being wearing something without sleeves for anyone to see it."

"I can work with that. It will probably be for the best if it's covered up most of the time. I wouldn't want to cause riots in the general population."

"What are you going on about, Spencer?" Lassiter had apparently finished his conversation with Vick and had come up on his other side while he was talking to Keisha.

"My sexy, sexy scar," Shawn replied, tilting his head to look at Lassie, who was closer than he had realized. "Don't be jealous that I have a souvenir from last night, Lassie."

Lassiter touched his shoulder lightly, then hastily removed his hand as if he had thought better of it. "How is he?" he asked, directing his question at Keisha.

"He's bruised up a little, but fine. I wish you'd let me take a closer look at you, Detective."

Lassiter shook his head irritably. "Don't worry about it. Spencer, when you're done here, we're going down to the local PD to make our statements. The Chief says that they have confirmed with the prison that Harrison Griffin has escaped, so federal and state authorities are coordinating a manhunt for him."

"Cool. When is Tommy Lee Jones going to get here to start searching the outhouses and the doghouses?"

Shawn didn't want to admit it to Lassiter, but he was exhausted. They had been at the police department for more than an hour now, writing out statements and repeating everything that Griffin had said in an effort to figure out if he had dropped any clues as to his destination.

They had put a few missing pieces of the puzzle together, like that Sloane had met Griffin after becoming infatuated with him after seeing his trial on TV. She had written him letters and sent pictures of herself to him, and eventually started visiting him at the prison. How they had managed to hatch Griffin's vengeance scheme together while he was under the watchful eye of prison guards was still unclear, but could probably be attributed to Frank's assistance.

He was bored with sitting around the station and answering questions though, and he and Lassiter were both still wearing the clothes they had been in all night, and he was damp and cold and tired and his arm hurt and Lassiter had started snapping at people even more than usual, a sure indication that he was at the end of his rope.

The local PD was a dinky little place, run by a gruff-voiced man named Sheriff Rivers, who had been openly skeptical about their story until shortly after their arrival at the station, when he had gotten a call from Chief Vick, after which he had become almost downright deferential.

"The Feds will be here in an hour or two," Sheriff Rivers was telling them now, "but there's not much more you can do right this minute. We can put you up in the Motel Six down the road if you want a place to take a hot shower, maybe get a nap before they want to talk to you."

"That sounds great, Sheriff," Shawn said, before Lassiter could give him any nonsense about how they couldn't rest while Griffin was still on the loose. He noticed Lassiter open his mouth as if to protest, but after looking at Shawn he shut it. Good. Some rest would do Lassie a world of good, even if he would never admit it.

Deputy Olleander volunteered to drive them to the motel, and he even stopped along the way at a Wal-Mart so Lassiter could buy them fresh clothes and toothbrushes and a couple of cheap disposable cellphones, and then stopped again at a McDonald's for some breakfast. Shawn had never before been so happy to see the golden arches, and after stuffing an Egg McMuffin into his mouth, he started feeling a little more normal. He tried to call Gus on his new phone, but had to settle for leaving a voicemail.  
The deputy secured adjoining rooms for them at the motel, saying that he was going to be stationed outside until they were called back to talk to the Feds.

"You're safe now," Deputy Olleander said. "Griffin is long gone if he has any sense. Get some rest. Sheriff Rivers will call you when it's time for you to go back to the station."

Everything he said made sense, but Shawn couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that this wasn't over yet.


	8. Chapter 8

Once he was under the hot spray of water in the motel shower, Lassiter was glad he had taken Sheriff Rivers up on the offer of the room. He had been about to refuse, but one look at Spencer had changed his mind; normally so exuberant, Shawn had looked pale and drawn, and while Lassiter could have suggested that Shawn go to the hotel while he kept working, he had felt oddly unwilling to be separated from him while Griffin was still on the loose.

Now that he was allowing himself to stop and rest for the first time in hours, he could feel the weight of the events of the past night bearing down on him. He didn't think he was ever going to get the expression of fear on Claire's face out of his head. He _shouldn't_. He should have to live with the memory of that failure for the rest of his life.

The only thing he could do for Claire now was bring her killer to justice, he reminded himself.

After getting out of the shower, he got dressed in the new clothes the deputy had bought for him and stretched out on the bed, turning on the TV for the white noise it provided. Maybe he should try to sleep until he got called in to talk to the Feds.

He closed his eyes and wondered idly what Shawn was doing in the room next door. Sleeping, he hoped. Even though he had sworn to himself after their conversation in the woods that he wasn't going to think about it anymore, he found himself remembering how Shawn had kissed him. Lassiter had known since junior high that there were certain men he found desirable, but he had never expected to find himself attracted to an exhibitionist liar junk food addict like Shawn Spencer.

But that wasn't entirely fair. The way Spencer went about solving crimes might be annoying, but it shouldn't detract from the fact that, since he obviously wasn't psychic, he was apparently a brilliant investigator. Anyone displaying that kind of competence couldn't help but be alluring. Lassiter wondered how he was coping with seeing two women murdered in front of him, to say nothing of finding Casey and Frank's bodies. Maybe he should check on him.

No, that was self-serving. Spencer was probably asleep by now, and there was no reason to bother him. Besides, he had been to countless crime scenes and seen numerous corpses by this point; there was no reason to think that he wasn't dealing with it as well as he normally did. He certainly didn't need any comfort, not from Lassiter, who would probably suck at the job anyway.

Lassiter drifted between wakefulness and sleep, remembering the taste of Shawn's mouth, the scrape of stubble against his face, the heat of his body pressed close. He wanted to _touch_; broad shoulders and warm skin, wanted to feel Shawn's hands on him again.

"I have a strict straight-in-Santa-Barbara rule," Spencer had said, but they weren't in Santa Barbara right now.

His eyes popped open. Shit. He was hard. This was ridiculous. Nothing was going to happen. Their working relationship was fraught enough as it was; adding sex to that equation could be disastrous. He would just have to get over this…whatever it was.

There was a knock at the door adjoining his room to Spencer's.

"Lassie? Are you awake?"

He opened the door to find Spencer standing there looking uncharacteristically anxious.

"What's wrong? Has something else happened?"

Shawn licked his lips nervously and Lassiter couldn't help it; he tracked the gesture with his eyes, his focus concentrated on Shawn's mouth.

"Lassie…" Shawn whispered, and Lassiter's control snapped. He reached forward, grabbed Shawn's shirt to drag him forward, and kissed him brutally.

Shawn staggered backwards into his room, pulling Lassiter with him. All Lassiter could focus on was the taste of Shawn's mouth while he pushed at the soft plaid fabric he was gripping until he could finally feel warm skin under his hands. Shawn drew in a sharp breath at the touch, his fingers digging hard into the back of Lassiter's neck.

He tore his mouth away from Lassiter's and said "If we do this, it stays here. It doesn't come back to Santa Barbara with us."

"Agreed," Lassiter said breathlessly, and then bent his head so he could suck at Shawn's throat, only realizing that they had somehow moved across the room when Shawn's back slammed against the wall and he gasped a little, causing a spike of concern to pierce across Lassiter's lust-fogged mind.

"Your arm…" he started to say, but Shawn interrupted him.

"It's fine. This is just like old times," Shawn said shakily. "You used to always throw me into walls."

Lassiter, who had gone back to kissing the spot on Shawn's neck where he could feel his pulse beating rapidly, removed his mouth from Shawn's skin long enough to admit "It was the only thing that made you shut up for a minute."

"Oh, there are other ways," Shawn said, his voice raspy and low, his hands hot and eager as he smoothed them down Lassiter's chest and pulled him into another kiss, just as fierce as before, before sliding down the wall to his knees.

A tiny part of Lassiter's brain objected that this was happening too fast, but it was drowned out by the feeling of Shawn nuzzling his crotch.

"Spencer, what are you doing?" he asked, a little embarrassed by how shocked he sounded.

"Um, I think that should be pretty obvious," Shawn replied, as he deftly unbuckled and unbuttoned and unzipped until finally he had a hand wrapped around Lassiter's cock. Feeling suddenly weak-kneed, Lassiter put a hand against the wall.

"Damn, Lassie," Shawn said, a hint of laughter in his voice, "it's good to know that you aren't compensating for anything with all of the guns."

"Spencer…"

"It's been a while since I've done this," Shawn warned, his breath warm against the already hard flesh that he was gently – too gently – touching, "so, you know, don't expect fireworks or anything." And then his mouth was on Lassiter.

He shouldn't have worried, because there were definitely fireworks. Maybe he hadn't done this since coming back to Santa Barbara, but Lassiter couldn't imagine anything better than the hot wet suction of Spencer's mouth, the lapping of his tongue, the way he looked up at Lassiter from underneath his eyelashes. He had to look away after a minute because the sensation combined with the sight of Shawn Spencer on his knees for him was enough to make him want to come then and there, and he wanted this to last a little longer. He reached down with his free hand to thread his fingers through Shawn's hair, and when he looked again a few minutes later he could see that Shawn had worked open his jeans and was stroking himself, his eyes closed now as he continued to take long pulls along Lassiter's length. After three years of pent-up frustration it was all too much, and he came with a groan.

Shawn swallowed but choked a little, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he pulled away. For a few seconds Lassiter couldn't do anything but try to catch his breath, but as soon as he was able to form thoughts again, he grabbed Spencer by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Turn around," he said roughly in Shawn's ear, and it was a little gratifying how quickly Shawn complied, bracing his hands against the wall.

"You gonna frisk me for weapons?" Shawn asked hoarsely.

"Something like that. Lick," Lassiter ordered, putting his hand to Shawn's mouth, and felt Shawn shudder against him as he again obeyed, then reached down to take hold of Shawn's erection, hearing Shawn gasp as he did. Positioned like this, the angle wasn't so different from jerking himself off.  
"Fuck yeah, Lassie, just like that," Shawn moaned, as Lassiter stroked slowly and leaned into the warmth of his body, planting kisses along his shoulder and neck, sliding his free hand up Shawn's chest to roll a nipple between his fingers. It only took a few minutes before Shawn was spilling over his fingers, panting like he had just run a marathon, and when he spoke, his voice was shaking.

"For the record, I usually have a lot more stamina than that. When you think about this later, pretend I lasted longer."

Lassiter pushed at Shawn's shoulder to turn him around so that they could kiss again, less frantically this time, and he was just about to drag Shawn to the bed when the phone on the nightstand rang.

"Damn it," he said, irrationally wishing that they were back in the hotel with no phone service. He went across the room to pick up the phone, pausing to grab some tissue to clean his hand off with, somewhat startled to realize as he did that he was still basically fully clothed, though even as he answered his phone Shawn seemed to be working to remedy that, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing each patch of skin that was revealed.

"This better be good," he snarled into the phone.

Under most circumstances, Shawn would be trying to listen in to the phone call so that Lassiter couldn't keep any information from him, but at the moment all he could concentrate on was learning the taste of Lassie's collarbone. His thinking still felt pleasantly muddled from his orgasm, and all he wanted to do was take Lassie to bed and learn every inch of him.

He heard Lassiter give a few affirmative replies to whoever was on the other end, and then he hung up, for a moment just standing there with one hand resting loosely at Shawn's back, the other sitting on top of the phone.

"That was Sheriff Rivers," Lassiter said quietly. "The Federal Marshals are here. They want to talk to us."

Shawn reluctantly pulled away. "Now?" he asked unhappily. "They have our statements. What more can we tell them?"

"That's not all," Lassiter said, not meeting his eyes. "The Sheriff also said that after we were done at the station, one of the marshals has volunteered to drive us back to Santa Barbara. So, we're not coming back here."

"Oh," Shawn said, suddenly understanding why Lassiter was radiating awkwardness. "Ah. You know, I expected this to be a brief fling, but somehow I didn't think it was going to be THIS brief."

Lassiter was already straightening his clothes, making himself presentable. "I thought we would have more time too. I thought…oh, hell. Obviously I wasn't thinking at all, or this would never have happened."

"You really know how to make a guy feel special," Shawn said dryly, as he zipped his jeans up.

Lassiter sighed, exasperated with himself. "Spencer…Shawn, that's not what I meant. I'm not sorry we did this, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a stupid thing to do."

Shawn cocked his head to the side, frowning. "I'm confused as to whether or not I should be insulted by that. No," he continued, interrupting Lassiter who was about to try and explain himself again, "don't worry about it, Lass. We're good here."

"Hey," Lassiter couldn't help but say, "You're the one with the no dating guys back home policy. It's not my fault that we'll be back in Santa Barbara in a few hours."

Shawn raised his eyebrows in bafflement. "You think I should break that policy for you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"No," Lassiter replied, looking away from him. "Definitely not."

"And what are you talking about anyway? It's not like I've seen you marching in the Santa Barbara Gay Pride Parade. You don't date guys back home either. And when did this turn into dating? That would be a disaster!"

"Stop!" Lassiter yelled. "You're right, we're good here. Let's just go down to the station and finish this up so we can go home."

"Fine by me," Shawn agreed.

Lassiter opened the door to the room only to find Officer Olleander already standing on the doorstep.

"Great, you're here" Lassiter said, "Spencer and I are ready…" he trailed off as he got a look at Olleander's face. "What's wrong?" he started to ask, but Olleander was being pushed into the room by Harrison Griffin, who stood behind him with a gun pressed to the officer's spine.

"Get back in the room Lassiter, or I'll kill him right now."

Lassiter moved back, gesturing for Shawn to stay behind him and reaching for his gun, but Griffin shook his head.

"Keep it holstered Detective, or I'll start shooting. I was going to begin with the good officer here, but now that I see the hickey on your neck, I think I'll start with the psychic. And you said he wasn't your boyfriend!"

"He's not," Lassiter ground out, wishing that criminals would stop making assumptions about his love life. Didn't they have more important things to think about?

"It's true," Shawn piped up, "I'm not. It's interesting, the last guy to hold us hostage actually made a similar comment, right before Lassie shot him."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen this time," Griffin said. "Officer, get down on your knees. Mr. Spencer, if you would be so kind to handcuff him, please."

"But we barely know each other!" Shawn said, but did as Griffin asked.

As soon as he had, Griffin smacked Olleander in the back of the head with the butt of his gun, causing the officer to fall forward, unconscious. Lassiter started towards him in a rage, but Griffin had the gun aimed at him again before he could do more than take a step.

"Now, now, Detective, I promise not to kill him as long as you behave yourself."

"Why are you here?" Lassiter asked. "I thought your big plan was to retire out of the country. Someplace with no extradition, I'm guessing. You could be halfway there by now."

"I couldn't leave when I still had unfinished business!" Griffin said jovially. "I heard on my handy dandy police radio that you and Mr. Spencer had somehow managed to escape the hotel, and I'm afraid that I can't allow you to foil my plans like that. You're supposed to be dead."

He was staring down the barrel of the gun at Lassiter now, his finger already tightening on the trigger, when Shawn threw himself into Lassiter, clinging to his arm and moaning loudly.  
"Oooooohhhh, Griffin, the aura around you is black with hatred. It's too much! I can't take it!"

"What's wrong with him?" Griffin snapped.

"He's having a vision," Lassiter replied, attempting due to the circumstances to keep most of the sarcasm out of his voice.

Ignoring them both, Shawn asked loudly "Who's that? I hear you! I'll ask him for you." Looking at Griffin, he said "Sloane's here. She wants to know why you killed her."

"I don't believe in psychics Mr. Spencer, so you might as well give it up."

Shawn leveled a stare at him, holding perfectly still now. "Sloane says that she knows you were planning to find your daughter and bring her with you, but she still doesn't understand why you had to kill her. You could have all been a family together," he said, remembering the picture of the little girl that he had seen in Sloane's desk

Griffin blinked, and for the first time Lassiter could see a crack appear in his composure. "How did you know…never mind. Sloane was helpful, but she would have been a terrible role model for my Amy."

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly Cliff Huxtable yourself," Shawn said, before switching his gaze to the space to the right of Griffin and gasping "Frank! Is that you? Yes, yes, I can hear you! I agree dude, it was deeply uncool for Griffin to shiv you after you orchestrated his escape from prison." Looking at Griffin again, Shawn said "Frank wants you to know that he would have taken the money you gave him and you would have never heard from him again, so what was the deal with murdering him?"

Griffin's lip curled haughtily. "Frank Slaughter was a disgusting excuse for a human being. Really, I was just doing the world a favor."

"Next time, just buy the world a Coke," Shawn suggested, and heard Lassiter sigh with annoyance beside him.

"Okay Psychic, your schtick is very amusing," Griffin said, in a tone that suggested that he was not actually amused at all, "but I'm afraid we're done here. Detective Lassiter, I'll let you choose: Which one of you should I shoot first?"

"Griffin, let Spencer go. Your grudge is with me."

"Oh no, Mr. Spencer made it clear that my grudge is with both of you."

Shawn had really been hoping that Lassiter would have pulled out some kind of fancy cop trick while he was distracting Griffin with his "visions", but Lassie appeared to be as out of ideas as he was.  
He was just about to give in and throw himself at Griffin, knowing that he would get shot but hoping that it would be nonfatal and that Lassiter would have the diversion he needed to get the upper hand, when a voice on the other side of the room called out "Stop!"

Griffin turned his head to see who the interloper was, and Lassiter saw his chance and dove at him.

"Hammer time!" the disembodied voice announced, as Lassiter wrestled with Griffin for the gun. Shawn looked for some sort of opening to jump in and help, but figured he would only be in the way as Lassiter slammed Griffin's head against the cheap motel room carpet, so he went instead to the nightstand to answer his phone, ending MC Hammer's insistence that "u can't touch this".

"Hey Gus," he said, "I'm kind of in the middle of something right now, so I'm going to have to call you back." He hung up and called 911, looking to make sure Lassie was still on top of the situation – he was – then going over to retrieve the handcuffs from Office Olleander, because Lassiter was going to need them.

"What the hell was that?" Lassiter asked, as he snapped the cuffs on an unconscious Griffin.

"My new ringtone for Gus," Shawn replied. "I called him earlier, but had to leave him a voicemail, so he was returning my call. We're just lucky that Griffin didn't realize that it was Hammer time."

He knelt down beside Lassiter and gingerly touched his face. "You're nose is bleeding. Are you all right?"

"He got a good swing in, but I'm fine Spencer." He was scowling, but his tone was gentle.

Behind him, Shawn heard a groan as Olleander started to wake up, and outside, he could hear sirens.

"Calvary's here," Shawn said quietly, and impulsively leaned over and kissed Lassiter quickly, before anyone else was there to see. Then the door burst open, and the sound of voices filled the room, and Shawn had to look away from the blue eyes watching him steadily.


	9. Epilogue

After that came hours of telling their story, phone calls to Chief Vick (Lassiter) and Gus (Shawn), and another visit from Keisha the paramedic, who gave Lassiter an ice pack and told him that he was going to have a black eye.

Griffin had woken up as he was being loaded into an ambulance, screaming curses at Lassiter and vowing revenge, even as one of the federal marshals was advising him of his right to remain silent. Lassiter wasn't too worried; it was unlikely that Griffin was ever going to see the outside of a prison again, particularly since he was far less likely to find new collaborators once word got out of what he had done to Sloane and Frank.

It was turning dark again outside when they finally left the tiny sheriff's office in the car of one of the federal marshals and headed back to Santa Barbara. Shawn fell asleep almost immediately in the backseat, and Lassiter found himself drifting in and out of wakefulness in the passenger seat. Fortunately, Marshal Hotari didn't seem to find it necessary to talk to them.

About an hour into the drive, the Marshal stopped to fill up the car with gas and to get some coffee. Lassiter stayed in the car, and heard Shawn yawning behind him.

"Are we there yet?"

"Another hour," Lassiter said, shifting in his seat to turn and look at him. "If you want a snack, now's the time."

"No thanks," Shawn said. "More than anything else right now, I just want a good night's sleep."

"Yeah, me too."

For a moment they were quiet, but to Lassiter the silence between them felt uncomfortable, and he glanced over to the convenience store to make sure that Marshal Hotari was still in the process of getting his coffee before speaking again.

"Hey, I don't know if you were awake when he said it, but Hotari says that they recovered your bike at the scene and that it's undamaged aside from the tires."

"Awesome!" Shawn said happily. "I was worried about it. What about your car?"

"There was some damage to the paint from the heat of the fire, but it should be salvageable."

"Cool," Shawn said, tapping his fingers restlessly against the leather upholstery. More uncomfortable silence. Lassiter sighed.

"So, we just pretend it never happened?

"Yep."

"And you don't foresee it being difficult for us to work together?"

Shawn smiled slightly. "It's always difficult when we work together. That's what makes it fun." He tilted his head, watching Lassiter carefully. "It's not going to be a problem for you, is it?"

"No, of course not," Lassiter scoffed. He wasn't about to be one-upped by Spencer being more mature than him over dealing with a one-night stand. Or, more like a one-half hour stand, if he was being honest. If they had had a whole night, maybe he would feel more satisfied by the encounter.

"Good," Shawn said. "Gus isn't allowed to die before I do, and if he found out about this, he would have an aneurysm. And if Henry found out, I'm not sure which one of us he would shoot first."

"You've made your point," Lassiter said a little grumpily, turning back around in his seat to stare out of the windshield. God, he wanted to go home. "We'll just forget it ever happened."

"No," he heard Shawn say, as the driver's side door opened and Hotari leaned in to hand Lassiter a cup of coffee before getting into the car, "I don't think I'll be forgetting anytime soon."

The End

Author's Note: For anyone who has made it this far and is interested, I do plan for there to be a sequel to this, but I don't know when it will appear. It is in the works, though!


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